The Scarlet King
by Lord22
Summary: Arthas Menethil has retreated from Northrend as his father willed it. However, the Dreadlord Mal'ganis still has resources in Lordaeron, and the Legion has many plans. As the world collapses around him, Arthas works to create a new order from the chaos. An order bearing the emblem of a flame upon a scarlet banner...
1. Flight from Northrend

**Chapter One: Flight from Northrend**

Upon his dark throne, the Dreadlord Mal'Ganis waited.

He had dwelled in these blackened and terrible halls for some years now and grown quite fond of them. But all too soon, if all went well, the Burning Legion would move beyond them. They would go on to warmer realms than snow drenched Northrend. Sometime after that, these halls would cease to exist. Or at least become only one of many fortresses in a world filled with them.

The doors opened, and Mal'ganis looked to see a Necromancer entering. The man kneeled before him and set his staff at Mal'Ganis' feet. "Lord Mal'ganis, we have a serious problem."

"What is it, Necromancer?" asked Mal'Ganis.

"The troops we sent out to halt the Alliance's retreat, they've been completely annihilated." said the Necromancer. "Prince Arthas has led an uprising of the natives to destroy us. Now they are united and are launching raids across our outposts."

Mal'Ganis nodded. He'd expected such an action and knew well that the Lich King was putting forth his will for that very purpose. "Muster our forces; we must repel them at once. What of Prince Arthas?"

"He is nearing the ships now." said the Necromancer.

Mal'Ganis allowed himself to smile. Baiting Prince Arthas Menethil down the path of darkness had been a hobby. One that he enjoyed a great deal. Arthas was a unique specimen, both devoted to the cause that he called right. And yet willing to do almost anything he deemed necessary. Passionate, yet calculating, and what was coming would be the culmination of his work.

"Then perhaps I should go see," said Mal'Ganis.

From there he shifted and stood upon a high clifftop, flanked by trees. Far below, he could see the shore. There was a fortress that had been assembled by Prince Arthas, but it was unoccupied. The ships there were unguarded, easily destroyable. The only thing that could save the Legion that even now was hacking its way through the trees. How they yearned for their home?

They would never see it now.

For Prince Arthas and Muradin came out of the paths to a clifftop overlooking the ships. With them were hundreds upon hundreds of ogres and trolls. A force hired to destroy the fleet that was to take Prince Arthas home. It was final defiance of his superiors at home — a prelude to their destruction.

Mal'Ganis could not have planned this better himself.

But Arthas halted, hesitating to give the order. The will of the Lich King surged down on him, but still, he stood reluctant. The dwarf looked up to him. "Is it worth it, lad? Is vengeance worth all this?"

Of course, it was worth it. There was nothing not worth doing if it did not achieve your goals. And yet Arthas remained silent. Then he turned to the mercenaries. "You may disperse, you have performed your duties and aided me in ridding your land of the scourge."

No.

"You mean not ta burn da ships?" asked a troll.

"Take your payment and go," said Arthas. "Our contract is fulfilled."

And off they went. Mal'ganis stared in horror as months of work and years of research came to naught. This was impossible. Arthas had slaughtered his people; he'd had everything precious torn from him. He'd been driven to his emotional and physical limits! And he'd said no anyway. How was this possible?

Arthas shoulders slumped as he fell to one knee. "I'm so tired."

Muradin put a hand on his shoulder. "For what it's worth, lad, I think you made the right decision."

Then out of the trees came Arthas' men, clad for war. They ran to the ships with joy in the hearts. They were going home in triumph and victory. "Ah, we've done it, lads. Let's board the ships and go home!"

There was silence from the Lich King. Ner'zhul was speechless. So was Mal'Ganis, come to think of it. Slowly he realized that all his efforts so far had been in vain. His armies in Lordaeron had been crushed. Stratholme destroyed and his plans foiled, the Cult of the Damned had fled into hiding. And now Arthas was just leaving.

He was abandoning the hunt.

"Obviously the Prince is not as strong as the Dark Lord predicted," said Mal'Ganis, trying to reassure himself. "No matter, the Legion has plans within plans. This choice will bear no more fruit than any other."

But he didn't believe it.

All that effort, all those plans within plans had failed. One after Arthas had tripped up each one until at last; he came to the final trap and… left. All that Mal'Ganis had tried had been a waste.

As the Lich King howled in fury, Mal'ganis returned home, feeling miserable.

When he got back, he found the same Necromancer waiting. "Lord Mal'Ganis, we've managed to beat back several of the raids. However, it will be some time before we are able to launch any reprisals. Prince Arthas destroyed most of our standing forces in this region and we-"

"Enough," said Mal'ganis, in no mood for more bad news. "Prince Arthas' has flown the coop, and now the Lich King is without a champion. All our efforts thus far have been for naught. Tichondrius will be displeased when he learns of what has happened. We must find a way to salvage the situation.

"…Take command in my absence. I will see to Lordaeron."

Mal'ganis was on autopilot as he transported himself back to Lordaeron. He walked the blighted parts of the land, trying to think of what he had done wrong. Perhaps a different kind of mockery? He should have killed that Proudmoore girl, instead of letting her walk off. Perhaps if he'd done that…

It didn't matter. The Prince had beaten him.

"Lord Mal'ganis, you are here," said Rivendare.

"Yes, I am," said Mal'ganis, getting a semblance of control back. "And I am displeased with how the scourge has conducted itself thus far. What progress has been made on the mission I gave you?"

Rivendare looked to the others, then back. "All the towns and villages have begun to check their grain shipments. Arthas saw to that. I doubt we'll be able to use the tactic again.

"Lordaeron city is practically impenetrable. Dozens of sorcerers are checking the place daily.

"However, if Prince Arthas were to-"

His failure was rubbed in his face again. Mal'ganis felt himself shaking with fury. He was angry, very angry. Angrier than he'd ever been. "Prince Arthas has chosen his side. And it is not ours. With his seal, we might have plagued the city of Lordaeron easily. But we do not have it.

"We will have to improvise."

"Then let us launch an all-out assault, Lord Mal'ganis!" said a cultist. "We may summon forth our reserves from Northrend! If we could destroy the capital, our enemies will be thrown into chaos! From there we may harvest the corpses of the dead and use them in an unstoppable army!"

Mal'ganis liked the idea. To assault the capital even as victory celebrations were underway. To burn and destroy everything that Arthas had worked for at the hour of his triumph. The idea was appealing beyond measure. "It is a pleasant idea." But reality struck him. "Still, we have not performed well in direct confrontations so far. Though if we were to strike hard enough…" He could summon frostwyrms and gargoyles. He could burn the city, kill Arthas, and force him to serve anyway. But he had underestimated the Prince before and here he would be at his strongest. "No.

"No, we will have to improvise. Send word to all your necromancers. Have them begin raiding graveyards. Pay cutthroats to provide us with fresh corpses. Avoid direct confrontation if you can and bolster our forces. If we strike at weak targets, the humans will be drawn out to face us."

Mal'ganis had lost. But a new game began now.

* * *

The people of Lordaeron welcomed home their returning troops with cheers. They cast rose petals down upon the soldiers, who marched in great ranks. Woman swooned, as choirs sang and church bells rang in celebration. On and on it went, as Arthas walked the main street of Lordaeron City, flanked by Falric and Marwynn. Muradin walked alongside him. The two friends had spoken little since they arrived in Lordaeron. Arthas had wanted to go back to making war on the undead right away. But everyone had insisted that his most important duty was to be the hero.

That had always been his duty. Everyone looked at him to inspire them. Yet he had never felt colder and more distant from his people than he had right now. His faith in the light was shattered. How could he have faith in a power which had allowed this to happen? Its warmth had gone out of his heart. Worse still, he suspected that his friendship with Uther destroyed. The man who had been a second father to him was not among the guests as he entered the castle. His only desire right now was to see Jaina and speak with her about something. Anything really, just as long as he was with her.

He scarcely noticed the palace halls as he passed through them. Everything had become a terrible, dark filled blur. He and Muradin entered the throne room. Then went through the front door, being careful not to slam them against the walls. They fell to one knee before the throne of his Father.

King Terenas looked far older than he was. The failing years of the Alliance had weighed heavy on his heart. Even so, he rose to greet the two.

"Ah, my son," said King Terenas, "I knew you would be victorious."

"Victorious?" asked Arthas. "Mal'Ganis is still alive. He will return. This war is far from over because Uther had my forces recalled."

"This task was far greater than any man can undertake alone, Arthas," said Terenas as he made his way down the steps. "Even so, you have caused our enemies great harm and rescued a Prince of Ironforge. That is accomplishment enough for now." He turned to Muradin, a wryly amused smile coming to his face. "You look much the same as you did when last I saw you Muradin."

"Well, I'm a bit older," said Muradin as he arose, returning the smile. "Not any wiser though."

There was a mutual laugh which Arthas did not share. He remained silent, barely remembering to stand up as he looked down at the floor. King Terenas looked at his son with a certain understanding. "Lord Uther has informed me about the situation, in particular, Stratholme. I want you to know that, given the situation, I think that you did the right thing. "Sometimes, a few must be sacrificed for the good of the many. It's a bitter lesson I had to learn as well when I became King."

"Do the Paladins share your optimistic assessment of the situation?" asked Arthas darkly.

"Of course not," said Terenas in frustration, "they lack perspective." Silence overtook them. "I've taken steps to ensure that all grain shipments are inspected from this point forward. The dreadlord will not take us by surprise again." He clasped Arthas by the shoulders. "I want you to know that I am proud of you."

It meant a great deal to Arthas. Far more than he thought it would, and he felt a lump come to his throat. Suddenly he found himself wanting more than ever to speak with Jaina. "Father, where is Jaina? I have not seen her among any of the guests."

Terenas fell silent. "Regrettably, the Prophet who came through here convinced her. She contacted the rest of the Alliance and convinced them to undertake an expedition to Kalimdor. You missed her.

"I'm sorry."

"I see," said Arthas darkness returning to his tone. "Is there anything else?"

"Well there is to be a great feast tonight," said Terenas, voice light. "the like of which has not been seen since the second war ended. It will help peoples spirits I think. After that, there are some other matters which will need to be addressed. But don't concern yourself with those right now.

"We've won a great victory, and soon we should be able to finish the war."

Arthas almost believed him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So, for a while, I've had this idea for a fanfic called the Scarlet King. Originally I was not going to write it. But when I drew a bit of fanart for it, and someone requested I write fanfic on it the gears started turning. Part of the problem is that it and A Strategic Withdrawal have the same divergence point. So I settled on having the same scene be from Mal'ganis perspective.

I wouldn't even be posting it, but I've completely drawn a blank on my daily chapter.


	2. Celebrations

**Chapter Two: Celebrations**

The celebration commenced.

There were speeches and cheering. Bread and circuses were on full display for the joyful crowds. Sorcerers amused the people with spectacular displays of light. Great barrages of fireworks rose into the sky to explode against a backdrop of stars. The palace itself was no better. Foreign dignitaries congratulated him on his achievements. They made a great fuss about how honored they were to meet him. Arthas only believed half of them.

Arthas didn't know what to do during it. He went through automatic motions, responding with courteous nothings. He felt nothing during it, moving through the blur of congratulations and pleasantries. His world had become a realm of banners bearing the symbol of Lordaeron. Not the Alliance, all the banners with that symbol had been taken down.

During the feast, Arthas found he had little appetite. He tried to eat something, but it was hard to keep it down. When he tried to eat, he found himself remembering the corpses. He saw the bodies of men he'd served with, transformed into a ruinous mockery of life. He felt bile rising to his throat and looked away.

Now he stood within a party, watching the guests speak with one another in a great hall. A large hearth had a fire blazing to keep out the cold and a long table with food available. The tan stone wall had all kinds of banners on them, even a few with the symbol of the Alliance.

Muradin did not seem to be having any problems. The dwarf was drinking and laughing and generally seemed the life of the party. Muradin related one story after another. Some were about his adventures in Northrend, others of the Second War. Some were even before or between them. He made it seem like a harmless adventure. Then he saw his sister, Calia, coming toward him. She was dressed in a silver dress that clung to her more than the usual conservative garments. Briefly, she spoke with a noblewoman, and the two of them seemed to get one well.

Eventually, Calia excused herself, and they laughed and parted ways. She'd always been better at navigating social circles. Arthas had always had a knack for inspiring people; he was good in straight forward things. But here he felt out of his element.

At last, she reached him and smiled. "Brother, you're here."

"Hello, Calia," said Arthas. "Have you been well?"

"As well as can be expected," said Calia. "You look terrible, Arthas. Are you alright?"

"Not really, Calia," said Arthas, trying to focus. As long as he'd been hunting Mal'ganis everything had been so simple. He'd had a goal, and everything was about achieving it. But now he was… lost. "I will be returning to the front as soon as the celebrations are over. Lordaeron is not yet secure."

Calia eyed him with obvious concern. She looked around, then took him by the shoulder and led him to one side. "Arthas, the war is practically over. Most of the undead have been wiped out. Kel'thuzad is dead, the Cult of the Damned has gone into hiding without a leader. We've stopped the spread of the plague and now have the means to counter it.

"You should take some time to rest. There are other battle commanders in the field than you, you know. I'm certain the paladins will be able to finish things."

"I have my doubts that they will do what needs to be done," said Arthas, remembering Uther's defiance. "And the Paladins were largely ineffectual before I entered the scene. The plague spread on their watch."

"Yes," said Calia, "but the plague has been stopped. Now it is only a mop-up."

Arthas remained silent for a moment. "I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like I've been gone a thousand years. I'll be of no help here, so I'd rather return to the war. At least until I'm sure things are secure.

"What about you? What duties has Father assigned you?"

Calia sighed. "Arranging for food relief, among other things. Large stretches of Lordaeron have been plagued. The Paladins have been working to heal it, but it hardly matters. We'll probably lose a large part of this year's harvest which means the treasury will suffer." Lordaeron had been one of the biggest producers of grain before Mal'ganis came. Now, what would they do? "And, of course, a great many people will have to be resettled."

"What plans are being made to relocate them?" asked Arthas, seizing on it as something to focus.

Calia shrugged. "Happily, Jaina accounted for part of the problem. She offered a chance at a new life to many of the refugees, and they took it. Now she's heading across the sea after a mythical continent, just like that madman wanted.

"I hope she finds it instead of a watery grave. Though she's Kul'tiran, so I'm sure she'll be fine. Still, there are large numbers of people who didn't go, and they'll be a burden on the crown if we can't resettle them.

"Of course, with the Northrend Colonies abandoned we've got even more to resettle."

"The Northrend Settlers are hardened warriors," said Arthas. "They can be of great help. What about Strahnbrad?"

"Strahnbrad?" asked Calia in surprise.

"Yes, a significant portion of the population was killed by the Blackrock Orcs," said Arthas, remembering the mutilated bodies of the villagers they'd sacrificed. "They'd likely welcome the additional population, especially if it meant better protection. We could resettle the Northrend Colonists there." Had he said that before?

Calia eyed him. "I'll investigate the matter. I heard you created some colonies in Andorhal as well."

He had? Yes, of course, he'd relocated many of the surviving villages to new ground, hadn't he? Then he'd established a fortified settlement near that gold mine. "I had to put new plans together as quickly as I could." He remembered what happened afterward, Stratholme. The screams fo children, children he'd had to kill. Now their corpses were burning. "How is the burning of Stratholme progressing?"

Calia put a hand to his shoulder. "Not well. The undead keep making attempts to seize it back. A large part of the paladins have been occupied holding the place. Every few days, a few necromancers sneak in, raise them undead, and start a fight. Or they raise some undead and try to slip out with them. The pyres burn day and night, but it doesn't have any effect."

Arthas needed to take his mind off this. He had to change the subject and find something else to focus on. "How is Father?"

Calia remained silent a moment. "He's tired. A while ago he'd had all he could take and cut the banner of the Alliance down. They've been… well, withdrawing."

"Withdrawing?" asked Arthas. "What do you mean?" Why would they withdraw when so much was at stake?

"Gilneas has sealed itself up and refuses to let anyone in or out," said Calia. "Thoras Trollbane is still bitter about not being given the nation he burned down. Alterac, more or less, doesn't exist. Kul'tiras has always been a sea power. And Quel' thas has all but abandoned us."

Alterac didn't exist. If it had, could they have helped? Did it matter? "When were they standing alongside us?"

"Never, really," said Calia, smiling ruefully while brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But before at least they were willing to send priests and sorceresses to aid. Now, however, they think the war is over. And they aren't willing to help with the cleanup just to save some of our people's lives.

"As for Stormwind and Ironforge, they aren't exactly without problems of their own."

Arthas looked down. "So much for the benefits of virtue." How much larger would their army have been if they hadn't rushed to save Quel'thalas from the Horde? Perhaps he could have beaten the Scourge faster. He might have stopped the grain from reaching Stratholme. Then so many people wouldn't have died. "We should have left the elves to rot."

Calia blinked. "Don't say that, too loudly."

Arthas looked around at the politicking and nobles speaking with one another. Then he saw the last person he wanted to meet. Kael' thas Sunstrider was coming toward him, clad in red robes. The elven Prince's hair had grown longer since last time they saw each other. Three spheres of green energy swirled around him as he approached. "I know."

Kael' thas reached him and eyed him. Arthas eyed him back. He'd hated Prince Kael'thas for years, and the feeling was entirely mutual. "Prince Arthas."

"Prince Kael'thas," said Arthas. What did he want?

"…May I offer my congratulations you on your successful victory?" asked Kael'thas after a moment, voice cold and formal.

Ah, that was it — an empty formality. Arthas narrowed his eyes as he felt anger surging in his breast. Where had been this respect when Lordaeron had burned? "You may."

"Good," said Kael' thas. "Then, you have them. If you'll excuse me, Princess Calia." And he stalked off. Arthas was not offended. Anything to have to spend less time in his presence.

"Well, that was cordial of you two," said Calia, smiling a bit. "I expected you to go at each other with knives."

"Believe me, nothing would give me more pleasure," said Arthas. "Are there any other threats I should know about? Recent events?"

"Well, ogres and trolls have been coming out of the wilds to encroach on our territory," said Calia. "They sense weakness, and we've been hard-pressed to keep them back. The undead seem to be ignoring them for the most part, oddly enough.

"They may have an alliance."

"I doubt it," said Arthas, remembering Mal'Ganis' tactics. The Dreadlord did not seem foolish enough to fight two enemies at once especially if they would weaken each other. "I find it far more likely that Mal'Ganis has chosen to ignore them in hopes they'll weaken us. The Forest Trolls hate us, and usually, go for targets of opportunity anyway."

"A shame Quel'thalas didn't succeed in wiping them out," said Calia. "We'd have a lot fewer problems."

"You speak as though that was within the realm of theoretical possibility," said Arthas, keeping his tone low. "That campaign was conducted without the help of the Alliance. They've been using humans to fight their battles since before the days of Arathor. Their list of victories without us is small indeed."

At this point Muradin made his appearance, carrying several wine glasses. He offered one to Arthas. "Lad, why are you two discussing matters of war at a party to celebrate victory?"

"A party that is premature, wasteful, and serves no practical purpose," muttered Arthas.

"I actually find it refreshing to discuss matters of state," said Calia with a laugh. "Most of the time, I have to talk about fashion and who likes whom. I find discussing the prospect of annihilating the Forest Troll refreshing. Usually, I have to limit myself to diplomatic meetings. At least we're discussing something of consequence, which is more than most meetings can say."

"Well, to each their own," said Muradin, pushing the glasses. "At least have a drink, lad."

"Very well then," said Arthas, taking it. Calia took the other. But Arthas didn't drink; instead, he looked at the red wine within. It looked like blood.

"In any case, I've sent out pathfinders to try and locate the forest troll villages," said Calia. "They start where the raids and sightings are and look for tracks.

"Arthas, may I make a suggestion?"

"Of course," said Arthas.

"When you 'return to the front' I would recommend Vandermar as a location," said Calia. "It was untouched by the battles in Anderhal and Hearthglen. But Vandermar is near enough that the Cult of the Damned may have relocated there. Since the graveyards are all untouched, it is a logical place to create an undead army. There have already been some undead sightings near there."

"Yes, great," said Muradin. "Now can we please talk about something other than the undead? I've just gotten back from months of dodging the buggers, and I'm sick of them."

"Oh very well," said Calia. "I'm told you went looking for a magical Runeblade, Frostmourne, was it?"

"Yes, but we never had a chance to find it," muttered Muradin. "Probably for the best, Runeblades are known for being a tricky sort of weapon. They give you what you want, but often you get more than you bargained for."

"Then why did you go looking for it?" asked Arthas, curious.

"To put it in a museum, obviously," said Muradin. "You don't think I'd go wielding that sort of thing, do you? I kick enough ass with a hammer and axe. Wouldn't be fair to everyone else if I got a runeblade on top of it."

Arthas laughed despite himself. "Fair enough. A toast: To the future of the Alliance."

"To the Alliance," said Calia and Muradin.

They clinked glasses and drank together. As they did, Arthas doubted he'd enjoy himself here. The memory of the horrors around him were too fresh. But he might as well try. Tomorrow he was heading for Vandemar. After that, he wouldn't return until the Scourge was finished.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

And done. I'm actually working on a custom campaign for Warcraft 3 that chronicles the events of the Scarlet King. No promises on ever finishing it. This chapter was necessary, I'm afraid. It's all well and good to have action and epic battles. But I needed to establish how the conflict was proceeding. I also needed to establish how the war had affected Arthas. Only here it is taking on a different form thanks to him having breathing room.


	3. Rising from the Ashes

**Chapter Three: Rising from the Ashes**

A headless corpse was standing upon a stake, bleeding. The hands and feet had been cut off and piled at the base. Around it, the land was blighted up to the road. The woods and trees which had once been so beautiful and pristine were now blackened and dying. Bark was falling from the trunks as needles fell from the branches. The scent of death and decay was everywhere.

Arthas had loved this land. With all his heart and soul. Now it was dying. And above him was no better. Unholy energy had seeped into the air so that the sky was churning with fel magic. He could sense the darkness all around him.

"Captain Falric…" said Arthas.

"This is the work of Forest Trolls if I know anything," said Falric. "The undead would have used the corpse. And Trolls like to hack off the limbs."

Arthas looked back to the burned-out house, where several corpses had been found as well. Women and children had been among them. He felt sick for a moment, but he forced it down. He must command for the sake of his people and the men. "Put the bodies we've found into the house, then burn it. We can't leave anything for the undead."

Falric nodded before turning to his men. "You heard the man. Burn it."

Arthas walked away to kneel on a hilltop. He felt bile rising in his throat but summoned the light to heal the sickness. Turning his eyes, he gazed at the distant form of Vandemar, and then to his assembling troops. They'd been finding a lot of sights like this lately.

Muradin approached. The dwarf had said he'd accompany Arthas on his journey, before breaking off to head to Dalaran. At the time he'd been cheerful, but now he saw the ruins of Lordaeron. He was grim. "All this destruction... I can see why you followed Mal'ganis north, lad."

Arthas had to say something. He had to inspire the men who were looking to him. So he rose and threw his cloak aside. His eyes gazed into the distance, and none could see they were unfocused. "It won't end like this Muradin." said Arthas, his voice confident. "I will see Lordaeron restored. But first, we must stop the scourge."

It was hollow bravado. But the men seemed to take heart at it. So it was that they continued their journey, coming to places where the darkness did not hold full sway. They found no more ruined houses and Arthas commanded. He had the men speak to locals and learn of events.

It seemed the Forest Trolls had been coming down from Quel'thalas in great numbers. They had slipped past the defenders in the chaos of the fighting. Now they wanted to establish themselves in Andorhal. With the departure of so many fighting men to Northrend, they had been preying on outlying farms.

Arthas had hoped, briefly, that things might be winding down. Now he realized he'd be fighting for the rest of his life. Even if the undead were destroyed, there would always be another enemy. Something had to be done about the Forest Trolls.

"Look lad, cultists!" said Muradin.

Arthas looked up ahead and saw a graveyard. And within it, a series of robed figures were chanting unholy spells over the bodies. Fury and panic overtook him as he unslung his hammer. "Kill them before they can raise the dead in that graveyard!"

He and Muradin were ahead of the men. They rushed into, and the figures panicked and scattered. Last time this had happened, they'd gotten away — not this time. Arthas raised his hammer and light flared. Many of them screamed in horror as they fell, burned by the light and writhing on the ground. The others were caught by Muradin, who slashed through them as quickly as he could.

Finally, it was over. But was it? This place had not been guarded. Who would guard a graveyard when living people needed protection?

"Damn it!" said Arthas. There were no resources to guard both the living and the dead. "Damn it. No matter how many undead we kill, they just raise more. The graveyards of Lordaeron must be destroyed."

There was a murmur from the men, and Muradin looked at him in shock. "You want to desecrate the dead?"

"Better a cleansing fire than an eternity of slavery to the scourge," said Arthas. "Dig up the graves and burn the bodies men!"

"Prince Arthas," said Falric, "is this truly necessary?"

"It is the only way," said Arthas. "We can hardly protect the living. Now the undead are trying to raise the dead. We are performing mercy on those who lie here and ensuring the protection of their descendants. We must act."

"We aren't equipped for gravedigging," said Falric. "We don't have the shovels."

Arthas nodded. "Very well, then. Falric, go to Vandermar and conscript the locals and any tools you need. Explain the situation to them. Then demand the location of any further graveyards in the region. Once we know that, we'll destroy them all.

"Peasants are obligated to give a certain number of days of labor to the Crown. I intend to use them. And send worth to the surrounding areas, tell them that they must do the same to ensure their survival. The dead must be burned from now on." He paused. "Get some priests, tell them to perform funeral rites out of respect."

And so it began. Arthas watched as villagers were brought in and forced to dig up the graves. Coffins and ancient corpses were thrown onto a burning pyre. He could hear weeping and saw that people had come to watch in horror. He put them to work too if only to speed the process. And he did not look away from it.

"How could you do such a thing?!" cried a woman.

Some of the bodies were recent. Others had been dead for a long time. Both could be used, Arthas was sure. So they all went into the fire. Several expensive graves had to be torn open to retrieve the bodies. He heard similar stories from men he dispatched to see to the other graveyards.

And on it went. Smoke rose from the ashes in neverending waves and many pillars like it could be seen for far and wide. The chanting of priests and the lamentations of the living were all around him.

Then a priest sprinted into sight. He was drenched in sweat and wore several wounds. "Prince Arthas, the undead have amassed a new army and are heading this way!"

"Gather the men, prepare to repel the assault!" said Arthas, readying his hammer. "Come on, Muradin! Lead on, Priest!"

Together they rushed through the town itself last came to the gates. People had been fleeing in terror through them with whatever they could carry. The militia was gathering at the gates. Beyond Arthas saw them. The shambling monstrosities were moving toward them. They were coming out of the trees in great numbers. Guns were being fired into their midsts, and many of the undead dropped. But more came on all the faster.

"Forward!" called Arthas. "To battle!"

He and his men rushed to the walls as the gates shut. The undead converged toward them and began to scale up. Arthas brought down his hammer to smash one down after as another as the beasts tore at the gates. The sound of guns, the cries of war, it all merged together. Arthas called on the light to heal and hurt as Muradin hewed down all he could. More and more undead emerged to assault them, and each time they were repulsed, reforming.

At last, whoever was controlling them became afraid, and they began to withdraw.

"Prince Arthas, we must pursue them before they do more harm!" said Falric.

"He is right," said Arthas. "After them!"

The gates were thrown open as the shambling Horde fled and the men fell on them from behind. They tore and beat at them, but Arthas drove them before him, destroying one after another. At long last, every undead was destroyed.

Returning to the place of battle, Arthas raised his hammer and summoned the light. He called back the spirits of the dead and restored the bodies as their spirits returned. The fighting men had returned. Then he walked up to one of the refugees. "What happened to you?" he asked. "Where did these undead come from?"

"They…" the man paused. "All was quiet a few days ago. We'd heard of strange folk in the woods. But then the graveyards around our town were raided. The dead rose out of them, more and more by the minute. Soon they were coming at us, and we couldn't stop them. The ground beneath their feet was blighted, and we had to run for it.

"A lot of folks are dead."

"As I feared," said Arthas. "I promise you; we will pay back those responsible." He turned to Muradin. "Send word to the men working at the graveyards that they are to return. The villagers must handle the rest." Then he turned to the villagers. "Listen to me, all of you. Your ancestors would have rather been consumed by flame than transformed into undead.

"If the graveyards are left intact, the undead will rise again. We must destroy all the bodies. Now, burn the bodies from this battle. I am needed elsewhere."

Muradin approached. "I just received word from some of the lads in the smaller graveyards. It's been destroyed. Another graveyard burned, lad. You sure this is necessary?"

"Nothing will stop me from defending my home, Muradin," said Arthas. "Not even having to do this." Then he paused as he waited. He watched the villagers gathering the undead corpses and piling them for burning. They now knew that it was necessary. "It's a shame that Uther pressed me into becoming a paladin. I seem to have missed my calling as a mortician."

Muradin broke out laughing hysterically, as did several of the men around. Arthas found himself laughing as well; it was the only thing he could do in this blackness. "That's not funny, lad."

And so they moved onward. Periodically they would find undead prowling and these they destroyed. Heading south, they found graveyards held by necromancers and cultists. These were put to the sword. Teams were called in from the villages to burn them as the most recent graves were dug up and burned by the men. One more pyre built.

"Prince Arthas," said Falric, "some of our scouts have reported back. They've tracked down a large tribe of Forest Trolls, a ways south of Vandermar. If left intact, they could threaten the communities in this region."

"Waiting to inherit the world the undead scourged of life, are they?" asked Arthas, feeling a contemptuous smile coming to his face. "Falric, take as many men as you need. Find these Forest Trolls. Burn the settlement and break them."

Falric nodded. "As you command."

Arthas looked to Muradin. "Muradin, you and I will press on and continue our task."

They passed through the remnants of ruined villages. As they did, they began to notice something. Wherever they walked, the grain had been destroyed. Mal' ganis had been burning fields of crops wherever he found them.

"Why waste time on crops?" asked Muradin.

"Waste?" asked Arthas. "Hardly, he can't defeat us directly. So he'll starve us. Burn the fields, and the people starve tomorrow. Blacken the woods and no crops can be planted."

Another graveyard was found where the cultists were hard at work. They'd gathered a large army of undead already. Arthas led the charge and smashed their ranks. He drove the walking corpses before him until he came to the necromancers. The cultists scattered and fled, but he killed a few before they got away. Men were brought in to begin the burning while guards were left behind to ensure it was done.

"Lad," said Muradin, "I've got a scout here with information for you."

"What is it?" asked Arthas.

The man wore muddy boots and had a nicked ear. His leather armor was torn, and he was walking with a limp.

"Prince Arthas," said the scout. "I was scouting out the wetlands to the south of here, and I came across a group of syndicate bandits."

"What of them?" asked Arthas.

"Well, they were very large, there were a lot of them." said the scout. "And they were collecting corpses."

"Corpses?" asked Arthas. "To what end?"

"They said they were planning to sell them." said the scout. "Someone is buying corpses."

"And I wager I know who," said Muradin. "That explains the disappearances, then. Lad, we'd better take care of this."

"Agreed," said Arthas.

So it was that Arthas took his army even further south, led by the scout. And at last, they came to the domain of the Syndicate forces. They'd made their camp on an island in the shallows. As Arthas came to meet them, they readied for war. They hurled spears into their midsts, but these were blocked by shields. Axemen rushed forward and met the Alliance toe to toe, and it began.

It was perhaps the most one-sided engagement Arthas had ever experienced.

His were elite veterans, men who had fought and survived the wars in Northrend. They had faced horrors beyond imagination and come through. Their enemies were a collection of cutthroats and murderers — cowards who preyed on defenseless people. In moments the bandits were driven in, as the Alliance overtook them. Their leader came forward, riding a black horse with a sword in hand.

He rushed at Arthas, rallying his men, and Arthas struck him from his horse to land with a crash. All remaining resistance faltered as the last of the bandits surrendered. Moving past, Arthas saw a number of tents and then the bodies. Dozens upon dozens of bodies of men and women, mostly with their throats cut.

"Aiden Pernolde," said Muradin.

Arthas looked up to see Muradin checking the body of the man he'd thrown from his horse. "What?"

"This is Aiden Pernolde," said Muradin, "we've just killed the worst traitor in Alliance history."

It had been so easy. Arthas looked members of the Syndicate kneeling in defeat before him. "Why were you gathering corpses? Who were you working for?"

They looked at each other. Then one of the bolder ones stood up. "King Pernolde said we'd be making a profit and hurting the Alliance as well. You cursed bastards wrecked everything. Broke up our kingdom, burned the capital. What'd you think we'd do. Turnabout is fair play."

"…Believe what you will," said Arthas. "Question them about the Syndicate's leadership. Then put them in a chain gang and have them burn the bodies here for a start. Once we've finished, we'll assign them to other areas.

"Give the dead a funeral. Including the bandits."

"We ought to kill the lot of these traitors!" said a man.

"We could," said Arthas. "But then they couldn't burn corpses, could they?"

If he was going to embrace a practical viewpoint, he would go all the way. And Arthas was tired of killing people anyway.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I'm trying to work on the campaign this is based off at the same time. So I don't want to overtake it. Ultimately I decided to fit this mission into two chapters since there are a bunch of story events later. Enjoy.


	4. The Path of Bones

**Chapter Four: The Path of Bones**

Mal'Ganis sorted through one report after another. The news was good; new armies were being mustered from the dead. Very soon, an entirely new wave of undead would be at his disposal to campaign with. Even so, as he looked into the fires of his torches, he found he was waiting for news of Prince Arthas.

It had become almost routine to him. A daily part of his schedule, almost. Make a plan, enact it, and hear how Prince Arthas had interfered. Prevented it from achieving full success. Wherever he went, he rallied the humans to fight ever harder. It was odd, but Mal'Ganis almost applauded his spirit.

"Lord Mal'Ganis, we have a problem." said a necromancer.

"What is it?" asked Mal'Ganis, looking up.

"Prince Arthas has dispatched messengers throughout the land. He has ordered the destruction of all the corpses in the graveyards." said the man. "While not all of the villages are complying, we are losing potential forces. He has also destroyed our forces in Vandemar and scattered the Syndicate in that region."

Aiden Pernolde had not known anything, but he was still the person organizing things. "I see. He is ever a persistent adversary.

"Still, we have managed to recover a large part of our old strength. Our priority should be to slow him down. Continue your efforts and finish this stronghold. I will give the Prince the confrontation he seeks."

"As you command, Lord Mal'Ganis." said the necromancer.

Mal'Ganis realized he desired this confrontation as much as his enemy. It was a strange revelation. This was all becoming very personal.

* * *

Arthas received a letter from Falric three days after they had parted ways. The landscape around them now was not as blighted, but it was oddly quiet. Like all the animals had chosen to be elsewhere. Arthas didn't like it.

Fortunately, the letter had good news:

_Prince Arthas,_

_As you commanded, we tracked down the Forest Troll village. We broke their lines and slaughtered all the warriors. Some of the beasts attempted to flee. But our knights were able to catch them and put them to the sword. We are now burning their corpses and all their dead._

_We are now returning to meet with you._

_Your loyal servant,_

_Captain Falric Alune._

It was written in the hasty scrawl of a man who learned to write late in life. But it was fully legible and refreshingly direct. Arthas smiled as he rolled it up and put it away.

Muradin eyed him in concern. "What is it, lad?"

"Falric has destroyed the main undead column and is moving after us," said Arthas. "But we can't wait for him. We'll have to press on and destroy as many graveyards as we can."

Muradin nodded, then looked up to where the corpses were burning high before them. They'd nearly taken all the bodies out of the graveyards in this region. They'd already left Vandemar behind and were making their way south toward Andorhal.

"If you say so lad," said Muradin. "But I'm getting real sick of the smell of burning corpses."

The smell was there. Arthas had hated it once. "I don't even notice it anymore."

Muradin sighed bitterly. "Well, maybe I'll get used to it."

Then Marwynn rushed up with Faldine with him. The soldier bowed quickly to Muradin, then turned to him. "Arthas, my scouts just got back. A large undead army is ahead of us. They are growing stronger by the minute."

"Are they aware of us?" asked Arthas.

"No sir, or at least they didn't seem to see us," said Marwynn. "They have truly massive numbers, though. Larger than us. I haven't seen anything like this since Harthglen."

"We might want to take our full forces for this, lad," said Muradin. "I'd hate to fight them all here."

Arthas calculated the odds. "If we wait, we'll be playing into their hands. Every minute may lead to the army getting larger. Bring me my horse and assemble the knights.

"We'll see if we can bait some of the creatures into a trap."

"That seems like something the enemy will see through," said Faldine, brushing brown hair out of her eyes.

"Will they?" asked Arthas. "The undead are many, but their commanders don't value them. And I suspect that Mal'Ganis has a shortage of commanders. If the enemies we had faced were properly coordinated, they could have destroyed us.

"I think Mal'Ganis' armies have lost cohesion. We have to use this while we can.

"Marwynn, I want you to establish a defensive position to hold the undead in place. Muradin, et the riflemen up on that ridge, ready to fire. I'll lead my knights. Faldine, protect Muradin's men."

"Understood, Prince Arthas," said Faldine, saluting.

"We'll let the knights get some glory," said Marwynn with a smile.

The knights were quickly assembled, and a horse brought forth. Arthas rode in front of the knights, hammer in hand. They stood still and silent, waiting for orders from their Prince. "Listen to me, my friends! Our task is to draw the attention of the undead! We will strike while they form up and draw them into a trap! Strike hard and fast, then disengage!

"For Lordaeron! For King Terenas!"

They drew their swords. "For Lordaeron!"

Arthas rode with his knights forward up the path as his forces assembled behind him. Soon they came within sight of the undead, who were assembling even now. Spurring his horse forward, Arthas swung his hammer and swept the heads off three ghouls. Then, raising his hammer, he sent forth a wave of light that broke the formation. The knights plowed in, hacking and slashing as they crushed the undead underfoot. Within moments they had passed through the front ranks. They wheeled around to strike on through again. With the second pass, they laid them to waste, and the other undead pursued.

A large part of the undead army lumbered after the knights as Arthas led them on. As he'd guessed, they lacked proper leadership. Soon they went past the ridge on the path, and the mortars and riflemen opened fire on them, taking many to pieces. Marwynn's men rushed forward as Arthas led his knights around. The footmen locked shields and became the anvil. Some of the undead tried to scale the hill, only to be shot down or hacked up. Others fought the front lines and were cut down.

Calling aloud to his men, Arthas led the formation of knights around the battle. They closed on the undead from the flank. They crumbled like clay hit with a sledgehammer. The entire undead force melted away.

Then it was over.

"It's done!" said Arthas. "The enemy vanguard is destroyed. Well done, men."

"Well, that's a good start," said Muradin, coming up to him. "What about the other few million?" And he pointed to where the undead ranks were swarming down the path in far better formation

"One thing at a time, Muradin," said Arthas. "Form up!"

The coming undead were blasted by mortar and rifle fire. Great chunks were taken out of their lines, only to rise thanks to the spells of necromancers again. Dark magic was cast that seemed to make shots go astray as the ranks fell on the front line and were held in place. Priests scurried this way and that, healing the injured. Mages slowed and transformed their enemies. The soldiers on the ridge held the line with shields and guns ready.

Arthas attempted another flanking maneuver, but was met there by a rear guard. His warriors clashed with the abominations, hacking them down where they could. But he saw a knight and his horse cleaved in two by an abomination's cleaver.

And then he appeared.

Mal'Ganis swooped down from the skies and landed, sending a wave of darkness around him. The men caught in it fell, screaming to the ground. Others fell forward, collapsing into a dark sleep. And every wound the undead inflicted seemed to strengthen them.

"For the Light!" called Arthas, dismounting and smashing his way toward the Dreadlord. He healed and rallied those he could. At the same time, Muradin was going berserk, laughing as he hacked them down.

On the fighting went, back and forth as bodies fell on the ground in great numbers, only to rise again. And then Arthas found his hammer meeting a spear in the middle of the fray. He was face to face with his enemy.

"Mal'Ganis." he said, shoving him back.

The Dreadlord smiled, spinning his spear as he parried a flurry of strikes from Arthas. Then he sprang back and sent a wave of darkness. Arthas sent a wave of light, and the two met with a flash before Muradin came at the Dreadlord from the side. Hammer and axe went for him, but Mal'Ganis evaded all.

At last, Muradin and Arthas stood before him as the armies made space for them by some will. They were in the eye of a neverending storm of dead and dying men.

"So this is the beastie you tracked to Northrend and back then?" asked Muradin. "Nasty piece of work isn't he?"

Mal'Ganis' smile widened as he took a stance. "I'm disappointed in you, young Prince. Obviously, you are not as strong as the Dark Lord predicted."

"You don't know what strength is," said Arthas.

Mal'Ganis surged forward, stabbing at Arthas with immense speed. As Arthas backed away, Mal'Ganis brought around the butt of his spear to catch him across the face. "Believe what you will, boy. But the harder you strive to slay my minions, the faster you deliver your people straight into my hands." He stabbed forward, but Arthas rolled aside and lashed out with his hammer. Once again, Mal'Ganis withdrew, even as Muradin came at him from the side.

"That will be of little comfort to you after I've cut those hands-off," said Arthas, surging forward.

Now he and Muradin were on either side of the Dreadlord, attacking in what must have been a blur. All Arthas' focus, all his energy, was set on destroying this abomination. And yet even as Mal'Ganis yielded ground, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

At last, he sprang away to land upon the corpses of several abominations. "Ever your words are bolder than your heart. My armies are legion. And you will never defeat them all. Not without Frostmourne."

"Captain Falric!" called someone. "Captain Falric is here!"

Mal'Ganis looked up as Falric's forces came into view. They shored up the defenders and striking into the enemy forces. The tide of the battle turned against Mal'Ganis, and he frowned. "So you are saved again."

Arthas surged at him, but Mal'Ganis flew high into the air. "Come back, demon! Let us finish this!"

"Finish it?" asked Mal'Ganis. "I told you before. Your journey has just begun."

Then, even as the undead were destroyed to the last, Mal'Ganis faded into darkness. Arthas fell to one knee, feeling exhausted. He slammed his fist against the ground. "Damn it!"

"Lad, we've won," said Muradin.

"We will never win until Mal'Ganis is dead and once again, I've failed!" snapped Arthas. Then a hand went to his shoulder. He looked up to see Falric. "Prince Arthas, we have to press on. The graveyards and these bodies must be destroyed. Even now, Mal'Ganis may be gathering still more forces to face us."

Arthas looked to his men, exhausted and many of them dead. The battle had been a costly one. "Right, press on. But keep an eye on the trees and send scouts ahead. I'll remain behind and see to these."

"Undead! Undead are on the flank." called a man.

"Form up! Hold them off!" said Arthas even as he looked to see them coming.

And so began a series of smaller battles. Arthas hardly remembered them afterward, for they blurred together. They had repulsed the first wave. Then they rested only long enough to heal their wounded and start the pyres. From there they headed north and found mile after mile of burning grain. And out of that grain came undead.

They saw a village wiped out to the last child. They fought many of those children in the form of zombies. On and on it went one nauseating combat after another. Waves of undead harassed their lines and had to be chased off. Ambushes were found and turned against the undead trying their hand at them. But they found few cultists and those they did find fled.

It was a truly miserable experience. One made all the worse by some of the tracks they found at one of the graveyards. All the bodies had been dug up, but aside from a few guards, there were no undead. What there was were wagon tracks and heavily laden ones.

"Carts," said Arthas. "They're leading away carts of corpses."

"There are a great many of these," said Faldine. "It seems they have been drawing them off for some time."

Arthas wished he were anywhere but here. He wanted to back to Dalaran before all this happened. To leave behind the blighted flaming hellscape all around him and go home. To Lordaeron as it should be.

"And we'll see them again soon," said Arthas. "So be it. Burn everything that remains and send word to the towns beyond. If any survive, ask them for information on Forest Trolls, we may have to initiate some reprisals."

"I have a bad feeling about this lad," said Muradin. "But there isn't much else to do but our best."

He had pursued Mal'Ganis because he'd felt as though killing him would bring it back. As if removing the demons head from his shoulders would be the end of a fairy tale. Like he could close the book after reading that he lived happily ever after.

How naive he'd been.

Even if Mal'Ganis died tomorrow, the war would go on. If the Scourge was destroyed, there would be other enemies to deal with. Arthas would spend the rest of his life fighting until he died in battle. At best he'd wither away from exhaustion as Father had.

He was so tired.


	5. One More Battle

**Chapter Five: One More Battle**

Arthas had won again.

He'd forced the undead into a disadvantageous position, even as they had been gathering. The battle had claimed some of his forces, but not nearly enough. Mal'Ganis had lost an entire army that could have otherwise destroyed many villages. Other smaller battles were taking place throughout Lordaeron. The paladins had become wise to what was happening.

This was turning into a war of attrition that Mal'Ganis was not sure he'd win. Fortunately, he did not need to win. "So our vanguard forces have been completely destroyed?"

"Yes, Lord Mal'Ganis." said the Necromancer. "However, we were able to draw back a large number of corpses and are working on them as we speak. Other areas have had similar conflicts with the paladins. While we've lost a number of battle groups, our forces are still growing.

"Even so, if things continue as they stand now, we won't be able to gather another army like this."

"So I have noticed," said Mal'Ganis. "Have you had any luck meeting with the Syndicate?"

"No, our attempts to establish contact have been rebuffed." said the Necromancer. "Whoever is in charge now, he refuses to have anything to do with us."

"Then he has greater wisdom than his predecessor," said Mal'Ganis. "I want you to have some of our undercover cultists to infiltrate their ranks. They may be of some use to us in the future, if only as unwitting pawns."

"What of the war?" asked the Necromancer.

Mal'Ganis looked at the map within his necropolis and considered the matter. Finally, he sighed. "Our initial goal has been partially successful. We have restored the scourge to power and weakened the humans. And we have burned vast acres of farmland. There will be starvation soon, and that will be to our benefit.

"Now we will recede into the night and do nothing."

"Nothing?" asked the Necromancer.

"Yes, we'll hide our forces in defensible locations and give the appearance of defeat," said Mal'Ganis. "I want the humans to believe that we have been beaten. The Alliance was already falling to pieces before this happened. Now it's dissolution will be a certainty.

"Once my plan is enacted, we will strike when they are weakest."

* * *

It was the last meeting Arthas wanted to have at the moment. But Muradin had insisted at least making a try for peace. So here he was before a pavilion, looking into a dark forest and waiting.

He was not kept waiting long.

Zul'jin emerged from the woods, flanked by an honor guard of savage warriors. They approached, and the two sides eyed each other distrustfully. Arthas had troops standing by to relieve him near at hand. The one-armed, one-eyed, troll was probably taking similar precautions.

"Zul'jin, your reputation proceeds you," said Arthas.

"I be knowing you, Prince Arthas of Lordaeron," said Zul'jin. "I remember you led an army in defense of Quel'thalas."

It had been a small action, defeating a series of raids. Uther had done most of the commanding while Arthas merely fought on the front ranks. He still felt ashamed he'd gotten the credit. "I did, though not out of any personal vendetta."

"Personal or not, the elves started der purges after you stopped that attack," said Zul'jin. "We never be forgetting or forgiving that."

"Whether you do, or not, perhaps we should move on to business," said Arthas. "You have been launching raids against my people in this region. I wish to negotiate the end to hostilities."

Zul' jin's one eye glared at him over his mask. "Why should we be stopping? You humans be on yer way out. We Forest Trolls be ruling all this land long ago. And we gonna be doing it again, once the rotting dead finish ya off."

"And what do you think the Scourge will do once they've 'finished us off?" asked Arthas. "They will destroy you next. For now, you are useful to them as a second front. But once we are no more, you will have no protection."

"We not be needing protection," said Zul'jin. "And you already be doing a pretty good job of weakening dem. I be thinking that I'll finish off the winner when all this blows over.

"Unless you can offer me some incentives."

Arthas looked to Muradin, and then back. He might as well hear him out. "What kind of concessions."

"I want Zul'Aman recognized," said Zul'jin. "Our territory given back."

"I may be able to arrange for Zul'Aman to be recognized, by some parts of the Alliance," said Arthas. "I'm not overly fond of the elves at this stage myself. However, I have no power to compel the elves to yield their territory."

"I not be talking about da elves," said Zul'jin. "Long ago my people be ruling all dese lands. Before you humans helped da elves drive us out and destroy us. We be wanting some of our ancestral lands back.

"You can give us it."

"The territories you speak of have been part of Lordaeron for centuries," said Arthas. "Any King who willingly yielded those to you would be wholly discredited." And those lands would be needed, with all the land that had been fouled.

"I not be thinking you be having a choice," said Zul' jin. "We be wanting our lands back."

The solution was obvious. Cut a deal with Zul'jin, promise him whatever he wanted, then rip up the contract and kill him once he was of no more use. Arthas had nearly done that to Zul'amon in Northrend. But that would have been wrong, an act of supreme dishonor, he knew that now. And the long term consequences could prevent any kind of negotiation in the future.

No. Arthas did not make promises unless he could, and would, keep them.

"Do you really think this will blow over?" asked Arthas.

"Maybe not. But that be my price. I be holding all the cards." said Zul' jin. "You want me to be thinking the world is ending. But you humans always be thinking the world is ending. We trolls live long, remember long, and adapt. We'll be returning to our old power, one way or another."

"…So be it," said Arthas. "I will crush your people if you leave me no other option. Even so, there are precautions you should take."

"Precautions?" asked Zul' jin.

"If you hope to defeat the Scourge," said Arthas, "it would be best if they had no corpses to raise more minions. I suggest you burn the bodies of your dead from now on."

"You be suggesting we defile our dead?" asked Zul' jin.

"If you don't want to fight them later," said Arthas, "yes. It will be to both our benefit, regardless of who wins."

"I not be listening ta any more of dis heresy" snarled Zul'jin. "Forest Trolls don't burn our dead like you. The Loa take our spirits, undead are just puppets. Dey look like da living, but they ain't them. We be going, unless you be having a change of mind."

"I've faced things far more terrible than a one-armed troll," said Arthas. "Do not force me to destroy you."

"I lost dis arm fighting the elves! I lost this eye in their torments while you humans sat back and watched!" snarled Zul'jin. "They were picking off our villages while our world burned down around us!

"Well, now it be our turn!"

"This discussion serves no further purpose, then," said Arthas. "You have safe passage back to your own domain. I suggest you use it."

Zul' jin and his trolls left, and Arthas watched them go. He dearly wished to order them shot, but there were rules of war for a reason. They had safe passage, and he would grant it.

Muradin sighed. "Well, that could have gone better."

"An understatement," said Arthas. "Why were you so insistent we have this meeting?"

"The important thing is that we tried lad," said Muradin. "Wars with trolls always get really nasty. If we tried to avert it before it starts, well, it won't win us any credit with the light for what we have to do. But at least we'll have made the effort."

"At least we know to view them as an enemy." said Arthas. "Come, let's return to the town."

They returned to town and as they did, saw the local graveyards in the process of being dug up and burned as the sun set in the distance. A hysterical looking woman rushed up to him, grabbing at him. "Why are you doing this Prince Arthas?! Leave the dead in peace!"

Arthas thrust her away from him, then waved off guards coming toward them with drawn blades. "I have no time for this. Get this woman to a chapel and ensure she does not harm herself."

There had been incidents like that since he began the work. Some villagers, usually the ones who had had scrapes with the undead, were willing to do the burning. Others had to be forced, and once or twice he'd had to break up a riot. But he went on, giving orders and making plans.

The next morning, to the smell of still burning pyres, he and his officers met together to plan their next move.

"What news, Muradin?" asked Arthas.

"Well, I've just gotten back from speaking with the scouts," said Muradin. "I hear tell there is a burial ground for Forest Trolls to the east of here. Maybe we ought to burn that too."

Falric smiled. "I'm surprised at you, Muradin. I thought for certain you'd be in favor of not provoking the trolls."

"Well, that seems a bit off the table now," said Muradin. "Moreover, if we burn their burial grounds it'll provoke em. Might give us a decisive battle to finish this quickly. Better than a long game of cat and mouse, you know."

"I see your point," said Arthas. "Ever since Falric burned out that outpost they've been staying mobile. We don't have the time to get involved in a lengthy game of cat and mouse.

"Although that still leaves the matter of the undead bastion to the south. Our scouts say that a powerful lich resides there, and the defenses are heavy."

"If it were up to me, lad, I'd leave a few men behind to guard the town," said Muradin. "Then I'd lay siege to the bastion and blow the place to bits. Once we've done that we can rush in."

"We're beginning to be stretched thin here, Muradin," said Arthas.

"Maybe so, but we can't very well leave our flank open to Zul'jin." said Muradin. "He might attack any day now."

Arthas nodded. "Right.

"Falric, ready the men and prepare to move out. We'll take all our siege equipment and heavy forces down there to besiege the undead stronghold. Marwynn, Faldine, you will remain here with a small force and keep an eye on the Forest Trolls."

"We'll take care of things," said Marwynn.

"Yes, Prince Arthas," said Faldine, "you don't have to worry about us."

So Arthas set out for war once again. He was truly sick of it all by now. He marched ahead of his army, making sure they were ready for war at any point.

But they did not find war. Only dying lands and the smell of rotting. No animals were seen in the dead woods around them. Not a bird was chirping as they marched on the road. It was eerie like all the world lay dead.

"No one's come to meet us yet." said Falric. "I don't like this, milord."

"Whoever we're facing doesn't want to confront us directly," said Arthas, trying to sound confident. "Likely they are conserving their forces and hope to tire us. That means they're getting desperate."

"Or they may just be fighting smarter, milord," said Falric. "We've dealt them enough defeats to be considered a serious threat. We can't rely on them being so careless."

"Let's try to stay optimistic, shall we?" said Muradin.

On they went.

At last, they came out of the trees and came before a great black fortress. A floating necropolis topped the skull carved walls. Shambling monstrosities walked the walls, and the gates stood forlorn and shut.

"There they are," said Muradin. "Not the sort of fortress I'd like to take without proper firepower."

"How do they build these fortresses so quickly?" muttered Falric.

"It is a question we'll answer later," said Arthas. "Form up the mortars. Prepare for bombardment. And ready the men to defend, the enemy may sally forth to fight us."

So the army scrambled. Many of those in this battle group were inexperienced militia drawn from the villages. Arthas had left many of his most elite forces with Marwynn and Faldine. He wondered if that had been a wise choice as the guns were arrayed.

"Mortars, unleash hell!" called Falric.

There was an earthshaking bang and then a hundred more. Rockets surged in great arcs through the air and plunged downward. Landing on and around the walls, they exploded. Clusters of undead were obliterated as great chunks of wall were blown out of the walls. On an on it went, and then the gates creaked open.

The riflemen were waiting for the coming tides. They unleashed a barrage of rifle shots into the enemy ranks. Many lesser undead died as they shambled forward. But then, as they neared the line, there was a flash of white and the air became bitterly cold. Many men in the center of the line screamed as they froze in place before their eyes.

Arthas raised his hammer to heal those he could, even as he and Muradin rushed forward to plug the gap. Muradin hurled his hammer spinning through the air to rip through an abomination. "Take this, you bastards!"

Then they met the battle, stepping over frozen corpses and hacking their way through. The men cried aloud as they locked shields to aid them. Then the battle began and became a blur of blood and murder. Arthas cleaved down one undead after another. As he did, little by little became aware of something.

A lich was amidst the battle, sending dark spells flying. Men were frozen to death from the inside out with each passing moment. For all Arthas' efforts, he could not heal them all. He fought his way through the fray, and as he did, the monster saw him. A spell was cast.

"In the Lich King's name!" said the lich.

Arthas raised his hammer and combatted the spell with the light. There was a flash, and a shockwave of magic and the undead between them were destroyed. Running forward, Arthas brought around his hammer.

"For Lordaeron!" he cried. "For the King!"

His hammer, blazing with light, swung around and smashed through the lich's ribcage. The creature screamed as his own dark energy was turned against him. With a final cry, his bones seemed to crush inward, before imploding into fragments. A wave of darkness poured out to destroy the undead surrounding them.

"For Khaz Modan!" called Muradin.

The battle lasted most of the rest of the day, but it was decided in the first hour. The Alliance forces held their ground against the onslaught. After wave after wave of undead washed against them, the enemy was broken. The walls soon followed. Little by little, the enemy fortifications were reduced to fragments of rock.

Within the broken remnants, they found hundreds of corpses in pits. They had found cultists working to raise them. Those that had not already fled were killed.

"Well, that's a lot of corpses," said Muradin as the pyres were raised again from dead wood. "Good thing we came here when we did, or they might of raised them and sent them after us."

"This is absurd," said Arthas, looking to the bodies of those men who were killed. He'd resurrected some of them, but not enough. Many had faced their first battle here today. "We've won dozens of battles now, and yet their numbers never dwindle. A dozen defeats hardly "slow them down, and yet a single victory is nearly our death."

"Lad, they may be hurting far more than they pretend," said Muradin. "I remember the Second War felt like that as well. Though the orcs at least you could talk to like a human. Ghouls are easier to kill, harder to negotiate with."

Arthas walked before his men as they worked. "Well done, men! The defenses are broken, and this bastion has been destroyed."

"Here's to hoping we don't have another fortress like that to take," said Muradin.

"Falric, send word to the villagers," said Arthas. "Tell them I will need their help burning the dead. Let the men rest for a bit, then follow up behind me."

"Where are we going, lad?" asked Muradin.

"To deal with the Forest Trolls," said Arthas. "We can't defeat the scourge with the beasts at our back. And the faster we deal with them the better."

"Right you are, lad," said Muradin.

Arthas had just won a great victory. Yet he was already planning to win another. He could win a thousand battles and not win this war. But he would win it. No matter the cost.


	6. A Cleansing Flame

**Chapter Six: A Cleansing Flame**

Arthas and Muradin made their way back to the town and were met by Faldine. The veteran was sharpening her sword while observing the men drilling. She stood up and saluted as soon as she saw them. "Attention!" Then she looked to him as her men did the same. "Prince Arthas, you're here. Did you succeed?"

"Yes, Faldine, we did," said Arthas, feeling tired. "The undead are destroyed. Now we will turn our attention to less serious threats. The Forest Trolls have been raiding this village long enough. The time has come to destroy them once and for all."

"That's a fine idea," said Marywynn, coming out. "How are we going to lure them out?"

"We will kill two birds with one stone," said Arthas. "We'll take a force of men to their burial grounds and burn the bodies within. That should draw them out of hiding and make destroying them a simple matter."

"Well, we were going to do that anyway," said Faldine. "Ice Trolls have been burning their dead for decades. But I guess the Forest Trolls haven't fought the Scourge."

Arthas nodded. "Give me a few hours to rest. Then we will set out."

It would do no one in Lordaeron any good if he ran himself ragged. So he took what time he could to rest. It was all too short, and he didn't feel much better at the end of it. Only a little more grounded.

But he could not wait any longer. So he rose from his bed and made arrangements at once. Meeting his officers, he was pleased to see his men were ready to leave and assembled. "Alright, then. Let's get to it. I want scouts moving ahead of our force at all times. We can't afford to get caught in an ambush on our way.

"Marwynn, you will lead the vanguard."

Marwynn nodded. "Yes, sir."

Faldine kissed Marwynn on the cheek. "Good luck."

Arthas let it pass. "Faldine, I want you to oversee the supply lines. Trolls like to hijack those."

"Yes, sir," said Faldine. "Prince Arthas, I…"

"Yes?" said Arthas.

"I believe we ought to give the trolls a chance to surrender," said Faldine. "We had to work with them a lot during the Northrend Expedition. They aren't good company, but, well, they're mortal like any of us. I don't like the idea of burning out villages."

"I'll take it into consideration," said Arthas.

And so they marched. As the army did, Arthas walked along the lines of men, observing them. They were tired and bitter if resolved. Several were muttering among themselves. "This is exhausting. We just keep on moving no matter how many battles we win."

"The Prince knows best." said another. "If we hadn't been moving this quick, all those people would be dead or worse."

"I guess." said the first. "Where are we at the moment anyway?"

"We are some ways north of Hearthglen," said Arthas. "In the regions which were not as affected by the undead. A few days south of here and we'll be among the villages we saved from the undead army."

"We saved?" asked the man. "I wasn't there for Hearthglen.

Arthas frowned. There hadn't been a lot of survivors from that part. "Were you in active service?"

"No sir, I joined up for the Northrend Expedition." said the man, smiling slightly. "I think I got a bit more than we bargained for."

"We all did," said Arthas. "Just remember that we are a crusade of the righteous. We do what we need to so that others can live in peace. Every undead we slay, every mile we walk, it is for not just Lordaeron, but the world."

"Still, I don't know about fighting the Forest Trolls." said another. "I don't love them, but my village did some trading with them once. Couldn't we make an Alliance?"

"Negotiations have been attempted and have failed," said Arthas. "Our only alternative is, therefore, to initiate reprisals. We must end our conflict with them decisively. We must think of our subjects first

"Carry out your orders."

They nodded. "Yes, milord."

Conversations like this one were essential, reflected Arthas as he marched off. They ensured that the men knew Arthas cared, even if he was not as great as they thought him. He knew what they wanted from him, and he did the best to meet that want. That had been his whole life, really.

"A messenger from Captain Marwynn is here." said a soldier.

Arthas strode to meet the man, who saluted. "What news?"

"Prince Arthas, the trolls got wind of us." said the man. "We foiled several attempts at an ambush and beat them back. Now they've withdrawn to the burial grounds. From the looks of things, they wish to make a stand."

"Tell Captain Marwynn to hold them in place, but not to attack," said Arthas. "We will be there soon."

On they marched as quickly as they could. Soon the army came within sight of the burial grounds. It was a high mound with a single tunnel leading into it. On it had been built an entire Forest Troll village. They were assembled for war with many warriors on the hilltop, but they were not rushing to battle.

"Well, that's a lot of them," said Muradin.

"Encircle the hill and run out the flag of parley!" said Arthas, remembering Faldine's words.

And so it was encircled. Marwynn and Faldine arrayed their forces well, and soon the army had readied itself. It was a smaller army than Arthas had started with. One force after another had been broken off to defend ground or oversee the burning of bodies. Others had been killed or given alternate assignments.

But it was enough. He marched forward under a flag of parley a guard with him. The flag was waved, and Arthas shouted.

"Trolls of Lordaeron!" called Arthas. "You have raided my people and endangered the lives of all within Lordaeron. I call upon you to take your people and withdraw from our territory immediately. Lay down your arms, and you will not be harmed."

A spear arced through the air and plunged into the shoulder of the man holding the flag. Several others landed amongst them. Arthas grabbed the man and pulled him away, pulling out the spear and healing him. "Get the man behind lines, quickly!"

"We be surrendering!" called a mocking voice. "Come get our arms! We'll throw dem to ya!"

There was laughing among them at that. Arthas stood up and was glad that they'd gotten a new group of mortar crews while he was fighting the lich. A cold fury went through him. How dare they violate parley. "Savages.

"Open fire with all mortars!"

And so it began. The thunder of the guns ranged far and wide as a massive barrage of rockets was sent arcing into the air. The first few were scattered, but gradually they began to home in. Soon they landed in houses that exploded into a thousand pieces. Others consumed groups of forest trolls.

The beasts attempted a charge and ran straight into a withering barrage of rifle fire. Many were already dead, and soon they ran, desperately trying to duck for cover. Some sheltered within the burial grounds themselves. Little by little, Arthas found himself feeling a sense of pity. They were completely outmatched here.

"Marwynn, order the men to halt the bombardment," said Arthas.

"Halt the bombardment!" called Marwynn. "Halt!"

"Raise the flag of parley again," said Arthas.

Once again it was raised, and once again he went forward. "Again, I demand you surrender and withdraw from the dominions of Lordaeron! You are hopelessly outnumbered!"

There was silence for a moment.

Then the trolls rushed out of the burial ground and charged at him, howling with fury. Arthas sighed. "Here we go.

"Form up and defend! Not one must get through!"

He retreated to the line and then turned around to face them, hammer in hand. The trolls spears and axes were of little use against the shields of Lordaeron. Guns shot down many of them, even as the knights came forward to slaughter them. It was bloody, one-sided, and utterly miserable.

They might have deserved it, but Arthas felt no satisfaction. There was nothing glorious about slaughtering a rabid dog.

"The battle is over, Prince Arthas," said Marwynn. "We've won."

Arthas looked at the village and considered his options. "…Burn it all. Nothing will remain."

"Lad-"said Muradin.

"They violated parley twice!" snapped Arthas. "I offered them the chance to leave freely twice, and they paid us back in our own blood. We are beyond negotiation now, Muradin. Cut off the heads. Burn the bodies."

"We ought to-"began Muradin.

"How many chances, Muradin?" asked Arthas. "How many times are we obligated to give these beasts a chance to stab us before it is enough? No, we're done. Kill them all. Maybe the next village will be more respectful."

And so the butchery began, though there was hardly anyone else to butcher. The mortars had obliterated most of the houses completely, killing almost everyone. Those who hadn't been killed were badly wounded. No wonder the trolls had refused a second time, they'd been the last of their village. They'd had nothing left to lose.

The bodies were burned. Arthas had priests perform burial rights on those they destroyed. It was an attempt to add some measure of dignity to all this. Hardly any of his men had been destroyed, and a message had been sent. So he walked before his men. "The brutes are slain, and their burial mounds are no more. Well done men."

"This is a nasty bit of business, lad," said Muradin.

Then a messenger arrived, looking as tired as Arthas felt. "Prince Arthas, the scouts report that they've found another undead bastion far to the south. It's just beyond the ruins of Andorhal City."

Andorhal City was a place he'd seen reduced to ashes by the Scourge. He'd had to resettle many of the people, and it was now a forsaken place. And now the Scourge had returned to it. With a sigh, he looked to Marwynn. "…Have your men get some rest. Two hours from now we'll move out to burn it down."

So began yet another series of battles Arthas had to fight. Every day was a blur of travel and carnage. He crushed bastions of undead wherever he went; he burned graveyards where he found them. When the Forest Trolls raided, he crushed them.

And then they won if this was winning.

Arthas supposed it was, in the sense that his scouts stopped reporting undead. They had started to run short of graveyards to burn. Meanwhile, the Forest Trolls were in a hurry to get away and usually surrendered. He had them escorted to the border with proper supplies. But he had no expectation that it would be the end of things. Reports indicated that many of the undead had fled into the mountains. With any luck, they and the Blackrock Orcs would eat each other.

The war hadn't so much ended as stopped.

And eventually, he found himself standing by a port alongside Muradin. The dwarf's ship had finally been arranged. And now that 'victory' had been won it was time for him to go. For a moment, the two stood there, waiting.

Finally, Muradin smiled in exhaustion. "Well, that takes care of our undead problem, for the moment. Which means I've got to head for home. Magni will want a full report from me on my findings."

"I understand, Muradin," said Arthas. "Still, I'd appreciate it if you could gather some support from the other nations. I have the feeling we'll need it soon." He paused. "Food shipments if possible. People may starve soon."

Muradin sighed. "Well, that's business as usual then. The wicked and good have no rest on Azeroth." Then moving forward, he hugged Arthas. "Good luck, lad."

Arthas returned the favor. "To you as well."

Muradin parted ways and made his way back to the ship.

* * *

The war situation had not developed to Mal'Ganis' advantage.

The humans had been weakened but had still won again. They'd burned through most of his bastions in Lordaeron. Fortunately, he'd foreseen such a possibility. He'd begun moving his operations to the Alterac Mountains. Those regions were not so well known to Lordaeron, and he could rebuild in time.

More importantly, his core plan was still intact. His cultist forces remained largely intact. And their operations were underway. But Mal'Ganis was beginning to suspect that he would only achieve a partial success.

Partial success.

That had been the word used for every one of his victories. Every 'defeat' was but a setback that helped his overall plan. Not that he didn't enjoy the game, in other circumstances he might drag it out. Yet Mal'Ganis was on a timetable. His superiors were already growing tired of waiting. If he did not show some results, he'd be replaced.

Mal'Ganis doubted he'd survived the resulting displeasure. Tichondrius was forbidden from killing him, but the higherups had no such compunctions.


	7. A Broken Land

**Chapter Seven: A Broken Land**

The armies of Lordaeron were disbanding. Not all of them, but a large part. The men were to return to their villages with their arms. Not because the war was over, but because the treasury was running out. Now Arthas had to provide the appearance of an ending where there was none.

He walked before them, uncertain, but not showing it. At last, he stood upon the stand and gazed down on his men. Every one of them had fought through impossible odds. They had proved themselves time and again. They deserved this. "Men of Lordaeron," he said, "it has been my greatest honor to serve alongside you in this war. By your hand, the forces of darkness have been stopped time and again. No army has faced such an enemy as we have and remained defiant.

"Now, however, victory is ours!"

A roaring cheer broke out from them. It was deafening as men raised their hands. Arthas found a smile creep to his face. "The undead have been driven into hiding and are but a remnant of what they once were. Mal'Ganis is now but a vagabond in the wilderness. With no more corpses to fuel his armies, he will remain so until he is hunted down.

"And yet our work is not complete.

"Though we have triumphed over our enemies in every battle, our land has been ravaged by the Scourge. It is time for us to set aside the sword and take up the plow. To begin the process of restoring Lordaeron to what it once was. Yet remember that though our campaign is over, we may well have to take up the sword again.

"Remain vigilant. For the day may come when your courage is needed again." Then he raised his hammer aloft. "For Lordaeron!" "FOR LORDAERON!" cried the men as they raised their weapons.

Arthas decided to lighten things up. "Now, break out the ale! They need a drink!"

And so began the celebration. Arthas walked among his men as they drank and ate food that had been carefully examined. No plague would get in here. He spoke with them on one thing or another. Eventually, he retired to stand a little outside, feeling tired.

Falric approached him. "It's over then."

"It isn't," said Arthas. "But let them have their moment."

And so the celebrations followed. They lasted nearly an entire day, but Arthas retired to his office to do work long before they ended. There were plans to make with limited resources. A messenger entered. "Milord, there is a message for you from King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind."

Arthas nodded and took it. What did Varian want? Unrolling the message, he read it:

_Arthas,_

_It's been far too long since we last met._

_I've heard you have been more than busy with the Undead Scourge in your land. I'm sorry I haven't been there to fight it with you. However, there are still remnants of the Orcish Horde within Stormwind, not to mention gnolls and fouler things. Ever since all this happened, I've had to be constantly working to make sure Stormwind doesn't fall to pieces._

_Fortunately, I have good generals, and I'm not facing nearly so great an enemy. My most serious problem is dealing with the Stonemasons and the Council of Nobles. Both of them are making demands of the other that are unreasonable, and I'm afraid there might be riots soon. Tiffin is trying to calm people, but I'm afraid things might get out of control._

_Should you require more help, I may eventually be able to send one of them to aid you. Grand Marshall Garithos once had family in Lordaeron, before the orcs came. Although he has some prejudices, he is a competent soldier, and he is eager to help._

_Signed,_

_Varian._

Too little, too late, was Arthas' first reaction. Still, the support could be useful. Drawing out a pen, he quickly wrote out a reply.

_Varian,_

_I am pleased to hear from you. In all honesty, I have begun to think we were wholly abandoned. Gilneas and Stromgarde have been of no help. And Quel'thalas has only sent token forces of priests. But I am glad to hear that you are well and that there were reasons for your absence._

_I pray for the wellbeing of your wife, Tiffin, as well as your son._

_If I might provide some advice, grievances are often forgotten when faced with a common enemy. Find an enemy that could be a threat and convince the people that they must be destroyed as quickly as possible. Use the crisis as a pretense to make decisive decisions you would not otherwise be able to do. A King is most powerful when people need a figurehead._

_Once you've done that, crush the enemy and throw their ashes to the winds._

_Speaking of which, Lordaeron has more need of food than soldiers. Vast stretches of land were ruined by the undead. Now I'm afraid there will be starvation among my people. If you could provide food aid, or know of anyone who could, I would greatly appreciate your assistance._

_Hoping this finds you in good health,_

_Arthas._

Handing it to the messenger, he looked up. "Take this to Varian."

The man nodded before leaving.

Arthas leaned back in his chair and continued sorting through reports. He had to make sure his men were all paid for their efforts. And he also had to arrange compensation for some of those who had been on the Northrend Expedition. It had been used as a prison colony by the Alliance. Many had not been paid at all.

Then the door opened, and Falric entered. "You called for me, Prince Arthas?"

"Yes, Falric, I have an assignment for you," said Arthas. "One more important than I have ever given anyone."

"I stand ready to serve," said Falric.

"I am assigning you to the Capital of Lordaeron," said Arthas, finding the relevant paperwork. "I want you to personally oversee the grain supply and make sure nothing compromises it. It is a well-paid position and very important."

Falric shifted from one foot to the other. "I would prefer to remain in your service."

"I know," said Arthas. "Unfortunately you are the only man I can trust completely who also has experience with the grain. I could assign Marwynn, but he's never had the same talent for logistics you do. You will be holding Lordaeron City in your hands.

"Lordaeron City relies on imports for most of its food. What if the grain shipments were tainted?. If that happened, Mal'Ganis' armies would swell. They could rise to a level that all our remaining forces would struggle to defeat. Ensuring our cities are not corrupted is of the highest importance."

Falric bowed. "Very well then, milord. I will do as you command." He took the commission. Arthas opened his mouth to say something, but he had no idea what to say. "Good luck." Was what he settled on at last.

As Falric left, Marwynn came through the door. "Prince Arthas, can I speak to you?"

Arthas looked at him. "Of course, what is it, Marwynn?"

"Prince Arthas, with your permission, I'd like to retire from the service," said Marwynn.

"Retire?" asked Arthas. This was bad. "Are you certain of this? If it is your rank, I'm going to need someone to replace Falric-"

"It isn't the rank, sir," said Marwynn. "It's the war. I… I'm just tired of fighting, I guess. Faldine and I have gotten close, and I want to get out before one of us ends up dead."

"Marwynn, you know as well as I do that Father's orders are premature," said Arthas. "The war isn't over yet. This is the eye of the storm."

"Sir, I don't agree," said Marwynn. "Just because Mal'Ganis is dead doesn't mean he'll make a comeback. His forces are destroyed, and he doesn't have any more bodies to throw at us. It could be years before he returns."

"What if it isn't years, Marwynn?" asked Arthas. "We can't let the entire army dissolve; we need a core to reassemble it around."

"Well, why do I need to be a part of that core?" asked Marwynn, voice holding a note of hostility. "I've been in front of the fighting from the beginning. When you reassigned me to Hearthglen, I liked it. I liked not always being on the road and killing things. Then the plague happened.

"I want peace. And so does Faldine."

Arthas realized he wanted the very same thing. He couldn't fault Marwynn for this. But perhaps he could find a compromise. "Very well.

"What if I gave you a different assignment. I could make you the head of a garrison somewhere. You'd be able to live happily in peace, but if there is a crisis, I can call you back? You know better than anyone the enemy we face?"

Marwynn paused. "…I'd be willing to accept that, I guess. But Faldine wants formal pay as well. Her position was unofficial. Some bureaucrats are using it as an excuse to skimp on paying her."

"I'll see to it that they are paid and I'll do as you ask," said Arthas. "If you can, find somewhere you'd like to be stationed."

Marwynn nodded. "Thank you, sir." Then he turned to leave, before glancing back. "Sir?"

"Yes?" asked Arthas.

"It's been an honor," said Marwynn.

"So it has," said Arthas.

And so Marwynn left. Like everyone else.

One by one, Arthas was losing those close to him. Uther had turned against him at Stratholme. Jaina had abandoned Lordaeron. Muradin was gone overseas, and Falric was reassigned. Now Marwynn as well. For a while, Arthas sat at his desk, his hands clasped before him, staring at the wall. Then the door opened, and a man entered. "Prince Arthas, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider is here to see you. It is a matter of great importance."

Prince Kael'thas, the last person Arthas wanted to speak to right now. "Wonderful.

Prince Kael'thas entered, looking less hostile and more tired. Arthas set out one of the glasses on his desk. "Prince Kael'thas, to what do I owe the honor?" Arthas motioned for him to sit down.

Kael'thas did not. "I am here on behalf of my father, King Anastarian Sunstrider. Until now, he has allowed large numbers of elven priests and sorceresses to assist in the war effort. It was understood that the Scourge was a potential threat and so they were dispatched in a support role-"

All pretense of courtesy was shattered. "Let me guess; he's abandoning us again." Arthas almost snarled.

Kael'thas fell silent for a moment. "We are not under any obligation to the Alliance. While I do not approve of his decision, he has chosen to withdraw all elvish combatants to Quel'thalas. I might have argued against it, but the massing numbers of Forest Trolls within Zul'Amon was a concern.

"You've increased their population to the point where they may well invade us. Hundreds of our people may die for your mercy. You should have killed them all. You could have."

"If you wanted to advise me on how to treat defeated enemies, you should have been beside me." snapped Arthas. "As things stand, I made my own judgments. I am not an elf, Prince Kael'thas. My word is worth something, and I possess a conscience. My first reaction to something I don't like is not to exterminate the entire species."

"I wasn't aware racism was among your flaws," said Kael'thas.

"It didn't use to be," said Arthas, realizing that he had become a racist. "But after all that's happened I've come to realize that everything the racists say about you is right.

"We called upon the old alliances. You sent a token force, and that was against your Kings orders. Because of that, the orcs broke through at Southshore and got as far as your land. Our armies marched to save you anyway. We died by the thousands to protect Quel'thalas. Many human villages were destroyed.

"We died by the thousands to protect your vaunted woodland realm. And what was our reward? You said, 'you should have sent more.' You claimed that we did not do enough to protect you, even after you abandoned us. And so you abandoned us again, leaving us to rebuild our shattered realms alone. Your spells could have helped us, but you didn't care. The human race was just a convenient source of cannon fodder to you. Our own lives were no more important than gnats.

"So we faced the Scourge alone. We faced an enemy more terrible than any that had come to this world before. And what help was given to us? A few priests, all of them volunteers. They were of great service in their own way. But they were acting contrary to King Anastarians orders as help always was.

"And now you stand before me, having done everything in your power to destroy us short of sticking a knife in our back. Now you act as if I should be grateful to you. As if I should feel ashamed that my victories have causes you indirect pain." Arthas realized he was rambling; his voice filled with despair. "It wasn't my intention that my actions should hurt your people. Can your father say the same?

"Have you no shame, Kael? Are you incapable of empathy? How do you stand before me now and justify speaking to me with conceit as my land burns around me? Where do you think the Scourge will go next when they have destroyed Lordaeron? And if not the Scourge, there will be some other enemy.

How do you think your people will fair the next time someone invades them? When they are known as oathbreakers across the world, who will ever make a treaty with them. The Forest Trolls will grow in number with every generation. And if they are wiped out, what of humanity?

My life will be over before you have grown to middle age, Kael. And these days will become legends. What stories will I pass down to my grandchildren, and to their grandchildren? What will they say about you?

"Do what you like. But you may live to see my descendants burning their way through your lands, regarding you to be as vile as the orcs. Is that what you want?"

Kael'thas said nothing for a long moment. There was some confliction on his face, but finally, he shook his head. "…Whatever my personal plans, I have orders I must carry out. You are currently in command of the majority of the elven forces in this place. I must ask that you allow me to speak to them."

"Do as you will," said Arthas.

Kael'thas turned to walk out the door, before halting and glancing back. "…I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," said Arthas.

And so he was left alone once again. Arthas should have felt enraged or helpless or something. He just felt empty, empty, and angry. Then the door opened, and a messenger came through. "Prince Arthas, Lord Uther of the Silver Hand requests your presence."

Arthas sighed. "Well, I'd best not keep him waiting, then."

One more speech to hear, then.

* * *

It was the last holding of Mal'Ganis' forces in this part of Lordaeron. Only a token force remained here, the rest having fled into the mountains or gone undercover. He strode up to the cultists working at the grain field.

"Is the enchantment on the grain proceeding as we planned, Necromancer?" asked Mal'Ganis. "Time is of the essence."

The necromancer looked back. "Yes, Lord Mal'Ganis. Our efforts are bearing fruit. We need only a little time-" Then a presence was felt, and the necromancer stammered. "Lord Tichondrius?"

Mal'Ganis barely stopped himself from whirling to see him. Tichondrius was standing there, his great two-handed sword on his back. The older Dreadlord eyed him in mistrust. "Mal'Ganis. It is the dominant opinion of our brotherhood that you have failed in your task."

Mal'Ganis controlled his fear. Lord Tichondrius, I assure you the situation is under control. My efforts have been set back, but the destruction of Lordaeron still progresses."

"Enlighten me, then, how losing the war on all fronts will achieve our goals?" asked Tichondrius.

"Now that the Cult of the Damned is in hiding, the humans believe they have all but won this war," said Mal'Ganis. "They have let their guard down. And I have a plan that will engineer their final destruction."

Tichondrius remained silent for a long, long time. Finally, he nodded. "Really? Do tell."

Mal'Ganis explained as best he could and hoped Tichondrius would approve it.

* * *

Lord Uther had made his camp amidst a blackened and miserable part of the forests in Andorhal beneath an unholy, greenish sky. The trees were ruined and withered. The villagers here were gathering their things, no doubt to move somewhere else. Uther himself was warming his hands over a fire, for it was cold here, far colder than it should be in fall.

The old paladin looked up as Arthas neared him. "Prince Arthas, I'm glad you finally arrived."

"We can dispense with the false pleasantries, Uther," said Arthas, coming to a halt.

"As you wish," said Uther. "The Paladin Order does not approve of your actions at Stratholme, Arthas. However, in light of the present crisis, we are putting the matter on hold. We have a task for you."

"What is it?" asked Arthas.

"Numerous people throughout Lordaeron have been displaced from their lands," said Uther. "Vast tracts of farmlands have been rendered worthless by the Scourge. There will be starvation and death soon if something is not done.

"I want you to oversee the resettlement process. You are to construct enough shelters to house the various refugees. King Terenas has authorized the use of magic to speed harvests and avoid starvation. We've already chosen an ideal place for a settlement in the wilds of Andorhal.

"That said, there have been rumors of Blackrock Orcs being seen on the borders. With most of our troops being disbanded, you'll need to keep your eyes open. We've arranged for some special help from the Church of Light to make things easier."

Was he being assigned to oversee farming? This was the sort of thing given to novice commanders, not veterans, although it could be considered a good sign. "Surely there must be a better use for my talents."

"Quite possibly," admitted Uther. "But there isn't a mission better suited to you as a person. Think of this as penance for Stratholme. You'll be met with someone of like mind there. I expect you'll get on fine."

Arthas took that statement for the dubious compliment it was. Still, at least he wouldn't be fighting anymore. Perhaps he'd even have a chance to wipe out the Blackrock Orcs once and for all. He could dream. Honestly, he could use the rest.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This marks the end of the first 'arc' so to speak. There will be some time before I post the next one. For one thing, I'm basing this off of a custom campaign I've been making. And unfortunately, I've run into serious issues with the trigger functions. So it could be a while.

Enjoy.


	8. Picking Up the Pieces

**Chapter Eight: Picking Up the Pieces**

The sun beat down hard on Arthas within the wilds of Andorhal. He and those few men assigned to him followed the remnants of an old road. Bits of it had been taken off by one sentient or another and here or there he saw houses built from the same stone. His men he did not know, for none of them had been with him.

They seemed a bit too fresh-faced for his liking and he found it hard to relate to them. Had it really been only a few months ago that Arthas hadset out on his first real military engagement? It seemed like centuries.

The trees and lands became less blighted as they went on. At last, the blight disappeared and at last they came within sight of the settlement. It was, at this stage, little more than a series of log houses with a town center in the middle. Said town center looked like it had been rebuilt from a previous ruin. Parts of the tower had been scavenged for parts.

Around the entire thing was a wall of stone and wood stakes. There was only one entrance, a gate of steel. Standing at that entrance was a majestically beautiful woman. She had long white hair and pale skin and wore an outfit that seemed designed to show off a body that was well worth it. Her breasts were enormous and packed into a red one-piece of red leather. Her lower half was covered by a loincloth and a red piece of armor that bared her long legs. And on her head was a very nice hat.

"Hail and well met, Prince Arthas." She said as he approached. "I am Inquisitor Sally Whitemane and I have been dispatched by the Silver Hand to assist you in your mission."

Arthas found his mouth going a bit dry. He had not been in the company of a woman with this kind of beauty since Jaina left him at Stratholme. And Jaina had been in possession of a bookish quality that compensated. Sally Whitemane… did not. "I was not aware Inquisitor was still a rank in the Church of Light." He managed to say, keeping his eyes firmly on her face.

"Much has changed in these past months." Said Sally Whitemane. "Although we have begun the construction of a new colony, the Black Orcs have filled the wood. More stream in from Alterac daily."

Was this the one Uther had said Arthas would get on well with. The comment had seemed passive aggressive at the time. Arthas didn't see how getting on well with someone like this would be difficult-

"But their efforts are in vain!" cried Whitemane. "The servants of the light shall flow forth and put them to the flame! Their children shall be cast from the walls of their cities! The screams of their women shall echo as torments unfathomable are put to-"

Ah, that was why. She was a fanatical nutjob. Arthas did not have time for this. "Yes, wonderful. Shut up."

Sally flinched, then looked down in disappointment. "…As you wish, Prince Arthas."

Arthas turned to his men, then Sally. "Our first priority will be to rally a militia to defend the settlement as it is constructed. Once that is done, we will hunt down the orcs and destroy them. They cannot be allowed to threaten our people.

"How many fighting men do we have in this place?"

"Very few." Said Whitemane. "Many of the warriors of Alterac were killed in the fighting. King Terenas chose to disarm the populace who were under our control. Those militias that remained were decimated fighting the scourge. There are some men who Lord Uther left behind to guard them, but these Blackrock Orcs surprised us."

"Bring me the commander." Said Arthas.

Whitemane bowed and the movement showed off her cleavage. The she turned and moved off. Sometime later she came back with a blonde man with a mustache, clad in Captain's armor. Arthas recognized him.

"Greetings to you, Prince Arthas." Said the man.

What was his name? It had been a long time ago. "Wilhelm, is it? We fought together at Strahnbrad."

"I am surprised you remember me." Said Wilhelm. "Lord Uther dispatched me here to aid with the defense of these people.'

"And so you will." Said Arthas. "Are there any other villages like this one?"

"What you see is called New Andorhal." Said Wilhelm. "There are a number of scattered villages, but this is the heart of the colonization effort. It's also the most defensible area."

"Send out your men." Said Arthas. "I need one in ten men brought here and armed with whatever you can find. Spears, axes, shields.

"Once you've done that you'll drill them for war."

"I have already begun training a limited number of them." Said Wilhelm. "But are you certain it is wise to take away from the workforce?" "Sally Whitemane said the orcs have filled the woods." Said Arthas.

Wilhelm glanced around. "Whitemane… exaggerates, milord. She has a tendency to see more enemies than we actually face. In truth, there have been only a few scattered sightings and most of them were chased off."

"Hold! A foul creature emerges!" cried Whitemane. "Arm yourselves my warriors! It shall suffer greatly!" Then there was a flash of light. She reached forward into the underbrush to grab her enemy, drawing it back and strangling it.

"Whitemane, that is a rabbit." Said Arthas.

Whitemane paused as she looked at the squirming, big-eyed critter. "…Evil comes in all forms. It may be a Dreadlord."

"Just put the poor thing down." Said Arthas. As Whitemane obeyed reluctantly, he turned back to Wilhelm. "Wilhelm, I want you to prepare them anyway. The Blackrock Orcs are probably scouting, looking for weaknesses. And with the Alliance weakened this region needs to be able to protect itself.

"Which settlement is closest to the Alterac Highlands?"

"This one." Said Wilhelm. "The orcs could cut cross country, but we've sentries that would spot them. And they do not know this land like the locals do."

"Prince Arthas, priests approach." Said Whitemane.

Arthas turned to the road and saw a large continent of elven priests walking down the road. At their head was a long-haired elf with a two-handed sword on his back. He saluted as he approached. "Hail and well met, Prince Arthas. I am Athanar. My men and I come from the Silver Hand to aid you in your struggle."

"My thanks to you, Athanar." Said Arthas. "But I was given to understand you had been recalled."

"All adventurers and support units within the Alliance military were to be withdrawn." Said Athanar. "However, Prince Kael'thas has created a new unit. One dedicated to ensuring that the land of Lordaeron recovers. Our primary focus is to be on ensuring that this land is restored to prosperity.

"If restoring that prosperity happens to involve acting as a support unit for the army, so be it."

So Kael'thas had found a loophole and used it to continue aiding them. It was something, at least. "Send my thanks to Prince Kael'thas." Said Arthas. "We'd all best go about our business.

"Wilhelm, are there any dwarves in this region? I'd like to draw up some riflemen."

"Unfortunately the dwarvish communities withdrew from here." Said Wilhelm. "There weren't many to begin with and they made their living by trade, not farming. I have requested a contingent of riflemen, but with the de-escalation, it may take time."

"Without any riflemen, we'll be hard-pressed to hold the orcs at bay." Said Arthas, confident they would attack.

"There are some remnants of the old Alterac Kingdom to the north of here, Prince Arthas." Said Whitemane. "We may hire them and advance over their spear strewn corpses!" Murmurs of disapproval from some of the men here.

"What she says is true." Said Wilhelm. "A mercenary named Blackthorn, once a Lord of Alterac, has power up in the hills. He and his men are adapt at hit and run tactics and throw spears like you wouldn't believe. Fortunately, he has mostly contented himself with killing corrupt tax collectors."

"I suppose they might make worthwhile skirmishers." Said Arthas. "Send out some scouts and see if you can find them or the orcs. Either is fine." Then he turned back to Whitemane. "Now, Sally, I need you to brief me on the work of the farms. How are things progressing?"

"Well, though I loathe the work, it is going well." Said Whitemane. "The magic of priests and sorcerers may be used to speed the growth of food in times of emergency. Even so, it is a complicated process and I have not had enough hands to do what is necessary."

"Very well then." Said Arthas. "Athanar, I am assigning you to assist Whitemane in whatever way you can."

'As you wish." Said Athanar. "I should warn you that going too swiftly in this sort of thing is dangerous."

"What do you mean?" asked Arthas.

"Rapid plant growth can exhaust the soil.' Said Athanar. "Creating Quel'thalas took the creation of an entire magical ecosystem. To use the same methods here could be disastrous."

"Do you have any among you experience in the process?" asked Arthas.

"Yes. We are taught it in our first days as priests." Said Athanar.

"Then have them begin their work at once." Said Arthas.

Things seemed to be progressing reasonably well. Perhaps, in time, Lordaeron would recover. In the meantime, Arthas was probably going to have to fight the Blackrock Clan again.

Days passed and Arthas spent his time in the boring task of organizing farm construction. He watched Wilhelm drill the men sometimes. Occasionally he made speeches to try to inspire the colonists. Now and then more would come in from other villages to join in the drills.

More reports came in of the Blackrock Orcs. Their jungle troll allies had been spotted here or there and a few spears had been exchanged. But no direct hostilities. Reports were also heard of bandits in the woods, but there were no raids.

Rumors of undead seen near the mountains reached his ears but no one could say anything concrete.

It was maddening standing in the eye of the storm, knowing that at any moment all hell would break loose. And yet Arthas never knew when.

And then, one day while he was finishing the last of his reports, Wilhelm entered his office in a hurry. "Prince Arthas, things are developing quickly. I just received news that the Blackrock Orcs are coming down from the mountains. They've assembled themselves and have large numbers of peons with them. It seems they intend to start settlements of their own.

"Worse still, a contingent of warriors is on its way now."

Arthas nodded. "Rally the men. Tell them to prepare for war."

Wilhelm paused. "I don't think they are ready for this. They know to stand in a line and fight but…"

"Unfortunately we don't have a choice." Said Arthas.

And that was how Arthas found himself standing before the gates of the settlement. He'd had the walls strengthened and a gate added, but the men were still nervous. In fact, they looked almost panicked. He walked before them. "Listen to me, all of you! A large contingent of orcs is on its way here and is likely to attack soon. We must stand our ground against them. If we fail here, your families will die and the colonization effort will be a failure. If we fail than thousands shall die for our inadequacy.

"Lock your shields and hold them back. The priests of the light will see to your injuries. And I will lead from the front." There were no cheers, these were not professionals, or even militia yet. But they did seem to get a grim resolve. It would have to be enough. At least they were backed into a corner if there was a way of escape they'd take it. "Wilhelm, take charge of your men."

"Yes, milord." Said Wilhelm.

And so the battle began. Arthas set his men up on the new causeways with stones to throw and javelins. Bows took too much work to learn, and he doubted they'd hit much. But it was something at least.

Out of the forests came the orcs and with them the trolls. They pointed and laughed at the defenses. The green-skinned brutes were clad for war, with huge axes. They faced a ragtag group of men in leather with hide shields. Only a few had any real weapons or armor. Though at least they had healing magic.

The orcs raised their ladders and a warrior stepped forward. He was taller than the others with red skin and glowing eyes. His red skin was tattooed all over and in one hand was a long katara. "Is this an army? Or merely a wall of pink flesh?"

Laughter came from them.

"Stay where you are, creatures." Said Arthas. "You trespass in our domain."

"Prince Arthas, your time has come and gone!" cried the orc. "The Legion has returned as foretold! Now the Blackrock Orcs will take this land as is rightfully ours!" "Believe what you will." Said Arthas, raising his hammer. "The Light will not abide by your presence. For the Alliance!" The men murmured a halfhearted response. Then the leader of the orcs motioned and his warriors charged. They brought ladders and roared battle cries. It was all Arthas could do by shouting encouragements to stop them from running away at once.

"Throw the javelins!" cried Wilhelm.

And they did. The orcs were clustered heavily so a few found their mark. But then the trolls began hurling spears of their own. Despite the defenses, many men were flung from the walls with spears in them. The priests saved who they could, and then the ladders were up.

A wall of green flesh leaped onto the parapets and Arthas rushed to meet it. He smashed down an orc with his hammer as a melee began. The men were wavering already as he crushed a skull and knocked another off the wall. "Stand your ground! Stand your ground!"

The orcs were bigger, stronger and more experienced. The only advantage they had was the chokepoint of the ladders and that was vanishing. Two militia were hacked down by one orc. Three of them managed to bring him down but were then faced with more.

Even as Arthas hacked around him, he realized the men were breaking. Even now some were fleeing off the walls.

"Run for it! We can't hold!" cried a man.

And then Sally Whitemane was there. She screamed in fury, sending a flash of light forward. It hit the leader of the fleeing man and he screamed in agony before collapsing dead to the ground. Then she did it again to the next runner.

Our left flank is collapsing!

"Stay where you are, pitiful cowards!" cried Whitemane. "You will fight, or you will die!"

It worked. Terrified of Whitemane, the men ran back to attack the orcs with the desperation of those with no way out. They hacked in blind fury and brought several down. Arthas redoubled his efforts and Whitemane began killing orcs instead of cowards.

It went on like this in a brutal stalemate for what seemed like hours. Ladders were cast down and raised up. The wounded were healed as the dead were cast down. Bodies piled up as Arthas fought with all his strength.

It seemed nearly as hopeless as Hearthglen. At least there he'd had professional soldiers.

But at last the orcs lost heart. They broke and drew off, fleeing off the wall. Several were killed on the way down, and the rest fled to meet with their troll allies. Both had taken serious losses, but Arthas looked at his own men and knew they'd given as well as they had gotten.

"Victory is ours. The orcs have drawn off." Said Arthas. "Well done, men!"

"I do not think they were expecting this level of resistance here." Said Wilhelm.

The men were exhausted and lying about. Those who weren't being healed were broken. He had to make them proud of this, had to break the despair. "All of you, well done! On this day you have become soldiers, warriors worthy of praise. Wilhelm, see to it that they are given extra rations."

"What of those who attempted to flee, Prince Arthas!" said Whitemane. "They must be punished!"

Several men turned white. Arthas waved her off. "They returned to their posts and hold the line after your… display. I consider the matter closed."

Wilhelm did not look pleased. "Whitemane, why were you so swift to kill those men?"

"The line was collapsing, Wilhelm." Said Arthas. "While it was not pleasant, the action was necessary. Post watchers and prepare the men with double haste.

"We must be ready for when the Blackrock Orcs attack in earnest."

"We won't be." Said Wilhelm grimly.

"Do you preach hopelessness, Wilhelm?" asked Whitemane with an edge in her tone.

"No, just the sad truth." Said Wilhelm. "The Blackrock Orcs are experienced warriors. They were expecting defenseless peasants like at Strahnbrad. That was why they withdrew, they got more than they bargained for. But when they come next they will hit us far harder."

"Then we will make them pay in blood for every step!" said Whitemane.

Arthas paused, deciding to let the ranting slide. "…Has there been any word on the location of Blackthorn?"

"None yet." Said Wilhelm.

"Redouble your efforts." Said Arthas. "If we can't find him soon we may very well be overwhelmed."

Things were looking grim again. The eye of the storm had passed.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

And update

The decision to bring in Sally Whitemane was made because I needed a female protagonist. So far the only prominent females have been Calia and Faldine. And both of them were secondary protagonists. It also gave me a chance for some humor.


	9. Blackthorn

**Chapter Nine: Blackthorn**

The training of the militia was going well. Arthas observed as little by little; they began to gain more professional skills. Wilhelm and his men saw them remade from a militia into soldiers. The victory over the raid had given them confidence.

The farmlands were going less well.

Farmer Aaton was a thin man whose clothes were too big for him. He was wearing a straw hat and had a look of desperation to him as he described what happened. "Prince Arthas, my farm, it was burned to the ground. My family and I barely managed to get out before the orcs arrived. That was everything we had.

"Where are the militia?" His voice was accusing.

"You have my apologies, Farmer Aaton." Said Arthas. "We are overstretched as things stand, but you have my word the matter will be handled."

"Your word won't bring my crops back." Said Aaton.

Arthas ignored the disrespect; times were hard. "Athanar, would you ensure that Aaton and his family are given shelter and food? At least until such a time as they can rebuild."

"As you wish, Prince Arthas." Said the priest.

Aaton was escorted away, and several more complaints came in. Most were of a similar nature. When things had settled down, Arthas looked down the table to where Wilhelm was sitting. "Captain Wilhelm, what are your thoughts?"

"These are probing strikes." Said Wilhelm, looking at the map. "They are meant to test our defenses and find the weak points."

"And how long until we can fortify ourselves?" asked Arthas.

"If the orcs attacked tomorrow, we could hold a number of strong points in the short term." Said Wilhelm. "And if the orcs took them, we could make them pay in blood."

"Then, we need to take drastic action." Decided Arthas, though privately, he suspected Wilhelm underestimated their chances.

"Then let us march forth Prince Arthas!" cried Sally. "Let us fall upon the orcs in their strongholds in Alterac and raze them to the ground!"

"As much as I'm sure it would make a good story, Sally, we should secure our own lands first." Said Wilhelm in a longsuffering tone. "And if we must attack something, we should destroy the orcish settlements."

"Once again, we will do no such thing." Said Arthas, giving the same answer as before.

"But Prince Arthas, they are invading our land." Said Sally.

"Land which no one now occupies." Said Arthas. "The peons are not harming anyone by their presence. If we launch an assault now, the orcs will rush to battle at once.

"The longer we drag this out, the better our chances.

"Besides, the peons may be of some use to us. I doubt they are fond of their masters, and that could give us an opportunity."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Wilhelm.

"Nothing at the moment." Said Arthas. "It is… a feeling, if you will. Has there been any news on food shipments?"

"Yes, Prince Arthas." Said Athanar. "Kul'tiras has begun shipping salted fish to Lordaeron en masse in order to help with the famine. Admiral Proudmoore has also dispatched a number of marine divisions. They are to help with the fortification of coastal settlements."

"That should go a long way to offsetting hunger and freeing up our remaining troops." Said Arthas. "Even if it is only a stopgap. But I've still received no word from Varian. What of Blackthorn?"

"In that regard, I have news that may be good or bad, depending on what you make of it?" said Wilhelm.

Arthas looked at him carefully. "What news?"

"It seems that there are several villages who have been smuggling him food." Said Wilhelm. "Alterac loyalists who only pretended to bend the knee."

"I do not think it was right to expect them to." Said Sally.

Arthas was surprised and looked up. "Sally?"

"I grew up on the borders with Alterac." Said Sally. "The people of Alterac were subjected to horrors far disproportionate to their crimes. Aiden Pernolde alone betrayed the Horde. But Thoras Trollbane subjected the whole nation to the Alliance's vengeance."

Arthas and his other officers shared a look. "…Did you just suggest that punishment was too great for a crime committed?"

"Thoras Trollbane was… ruthless." Said Sally, shifting awkwardly.

Wilhelm shuddered. "…At any rate, I have found one among their number who is willing to speak with us. I can call her in if you wish."

"Very well." Said Arthas. "Let her speak."

The woman that entered was slim and pretty with dark hair. She walked into the room and bowed quickly.

"This is Serena Townsend." Said Wilhelm. "The one I spoke of."

Arthas sat back in his chair. "What news do you bring us?"

Serena paused. "Some time ago, I was taken prisoner by the Syndicate. They would have sold me as a slave, but I managed to slip free. While there, I learned something.

"The Syndicate is actually two different groups who have agreed not to fight one another. One of them was led by Aiden Pernolde and the other by his son, Aliden Pernolde. The two despised each other. Aliden's Syndicate forbids slavery. It is mostly focused on ensuring the people of Alterac are not mistreated.

"Aiden's was focused on revenge on the Alliance and regaining past glories. Or so I gathered from some of the conversations. Now that Aiden is dead, there is a power vacuum, and Aliden is trying to take over. But large parts of the group are heading to a new master, the Dreadlord Mal'Ganis."

"I see." Said Arthas, not sure about her truthfulness. "How did you escape?"

"Blackthorn set me free and sent me here." Said Serena. "But I followed behind his forces and saw where he made his camp. He has a strong force, both of axemen and spearthrowers, and they are experts at stealth."

"Which means he could be invaluable to us." Said Arthas. "Every bit helps." He glanced at Sally. "Is there any news from Uther?"

"Prince Arthas, I received a letter this very day from him." Said Sally, offering it.

Arthas unrolled it and read:

_Prince Arthas,_

_I am concerned to hear of the resurgence in the Blackrock Clan. Unfortunately, I do not have any forces to spare. Just when the armies were disbanded, the undead made another grab at Stratholme. I've had to draw off my forces to put them down, and I cannot afford to leave Andorhal undefended._

_We have not yet burned all the dead in that region._

_The undead is using different tactics now. Before they would throw themselves without hesitation to their deaths. Now, however, they are evasive, gathering strength and striking where we are weakest. I would not be surprised if this orc resurgence was engineered to divide us._

_You will have to hold your own until I can return. I have faith you can do that much. Just be thankful that the bodies of the dead are no longer enemy reinforcements._

_-Uther._

Arthas sighed, expecting as much. If nothing else, he could count it as a vote of confidence, of sorts. "Uther is otherwise occupied. Our orders are to defend the settlements until he can return.

Serena, what use is the Dreadlord putting the bandits he recruits to?"

"I do not know, milord." Said Serena.

"Well, whatever it is, recruiting Blackthorn has just become our top priority." Said Arthas.

"Why?" asked Sally.

"The Syndicate was founded when we dispossessed the nobles of Alterac." Said Arthas. "If they are given a chance to regain something of what was lost, many of them will leave banditry behind. The nobles probably represent a large part of the leadership. It will probably decimate the Syndicate ranks overnight.

"Moreover, I suspect they may have a great deal of information on each other. With that, we could hunt down those who do not return.

"Serena, what do the common people of Alterac think of the Syndicate? Speak without fear."

Serena looked around as if trying to figure out if Arthas was merely polite, or if he meant it. "When Thoras Trollbane came to these lands, he reduced our capital to ashes. He killed men, women, and children, destroyed entire communities. All because of something King Pernolde did\that we didn't even know about.

"And Pernolde wasn't a bad king, not to us anyway."

"I see." Said Arthas. Then he leaned forward. "You will take me to Blackthorn."

Serena flinched. "He may decide to kill you. He is not fond of Lordaeron."

"Well, then it won't be any different from what will happen if I stay here." Said Arthas. "As long as he hears me out, we should not have a problem. Take me to."

"Yes, Prince Arthas." Said Serena.

* * *

Arthas, some guards, and Serena set out that very day. They traveled quickly north, going by strange paths. Several of them took them by isolated villages of peons, working under the gaze of orcs. He saw an orcish taskmaster standing by with a whip many times that day.

But at last, they went beyond the orcish colonies and into the highlands. As they waded across a shallow stream, Arthas looked to Serena. "Tell me, did your father tell you what it was he learned about the Cult of the Damned?"

"He said enough for me to know it was serious." Said Serena, looking pained.

"Do you know how Aiden learned of it?" asked Arthas.

"Mal'Ganis has eyes everywhere." Said Serena. "You never know who could be one of his spies. Wait a minute." She halted and raised a hand before pointing ahead. Peering into the trees, Arthas saw massive humanoid figures made of boulders. They were like a living avalanche. And a little beyond them was a large camp of humanoid rodents with candles.

"Rock golems and kobolds. What are they doing here?" asked Arthas.

"They must have fled into the highlands." Said Serena.

"Well, we'll have to slip past them." Said Arthas.

They took a wide berth around the group and began to turn to walk along the cliffs. The trees became thicker now, and soon they emerged into a clearing. There was a camp surrounded by a palisade. Dozens of men were standing by on the walls, and as they emerged, the gates open and a man rode out. He wore black armor and had a beard and mustache. In one hand, he carried a massive sword, and he was flanked by two men with axes.

"Hold where you are, stranger! What business do you have in the camp of Lord Blackthorn?"

Arthas stepped forward. "I am Arthas Menethil of Lordaeron. I've come to offer you a chance to serve the Alliance."

Blackthorn scoffed. "Serve the Alliance? Never! Alterac remembers too well what you have done!"

"Alterac may rise again." Said Arthas. "I'm offering to restore your titles, provide payment for your services, and give a full pardon. All I ask in return is that you help in destroying our common enemy, the orcs. Even as we speak, armies of orcs are mustering to attack the people of Alterac.

"My men alone cannot stop them. But with your aid, we can halt their advance and drive them back into the mountains. Or, if you'd prefer to remain in hiding, you can watch your people die and wait to be conquered."

Blackthorn remained silent. "One moment, while I speak with my officers."

It was far longer than a moment that Arthas waited. The sun was beginning to sink behind the trees when the gates opened, and Blackthorn emerged. "…Very well then, Prince Arthas. We will fight for Alterac, not for you. Men, ready your spears. We'll see if this Prince is as good as his word."

Arthas smiled. They might win yet.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

One thing I'd like to get out of the way here is that I am deliberately going for as focused a narrative as possible. The problem with A Strategic Withdrawal is that I opened up so many different plot threads. I've been stuck for months because I don't know how to proceed. I am juggling so many narratives that they clash.


	10. The Battle of the Colonies

**Chapter Ten: Battle of the Colonies**

Weeks passed, and the war became a slow boil.  
Blackthorn and his men set about helping to train pathfinders and spearthrowers. At the same time, Athanar and Whitemane inducted new members into the church of light. The number of footmen continued to grow. But so did the presence of the orcs.

Raid after raid came out after the farmers. Some were repulsed, but the orcs always chose weak targets. They picked off fringe farms, and many of the settlers had been forced to flee their farms. Others were not so lucky and were dragged off to become slaves or sacrifices.

Things were approaching their critical stage.

"Now that Blackthorn has come over to our side, we have a stronger border, Prince Arthas." Said Wilhelm. "However, the Blackrock Orcs are mustering in still greater numbers. They've also made common cause with several tribes of Jungle Trolls.

"Even as we speak, they are mustering in the Alterac Mountains."

Arthas looked to Blackthorn on the far side of the table. He'd been able to increase the number of troops, as outlaws came out of the woodwork to support them. "Blackthorn, you represent Alterac. How is it that your people have survived all this time?"

"Alterac and the Blackrocks have an… understanding." Said Blackthorn. "We provided them with information on ripe targets, and they left us in peace. There was even some trade between us."

"And how have they fed their ranks?" asked Arthas.

"Orcs are very fond of pigs." Said Blackthorn. "The peons of the Horde have a remarkable knack for raising food, even from the worst of territory.  
"Where the Alliance can raise larger amounts of food, the orcs can set up farmland quickly."

"Wilhelm, when the orcs are mustered, can we defeat them?" asked Arthas. Privately he doubted it.

Wilhelm remained silent for a long time. "…Yes. I believe so."

"You seem to be claiming we can do so with a great deal of dread, Wilhelm." Noted Arthas.

Wilhelm sighed. "If I were to be given the task of stopping an incursion, my first choice would be scorched earth. Burn all crops and food we can't take with us and destroy the farmlands they have. Doing this would mean they would have to attack our fortifications, and we would have to destroy them."

"Do that, and you'll starve the whole region for one victory." Snapped Blackthorn.

"Better to die in victory than live in defeat!" said Whitemane.

"Failing that, we could attempt to whittle down their forces." Said Wilhelm. "But they will cause massive destruction before the end if we do that. At best, we can cause enough problems that they'll go away."

"Every moment that we delay gives Mal'Ganis more time to act against us." Said Arthas. "We need a swift conclusion to this. A decisive battle."

"Then let us march forward and slay them!" said Whitemane. "We will slaughter the orcs to the last in open battle!" She raised an upraised fist.

"Why is this maniac in your council?" asked Blackthorn.

"Because Inquisitor Whitemane is right." Said Arthas.

"What?" said Wilhelm.

"I am?" asked Whitemane.

"Yes." Said Arthas. "We can't afford to have the crops destroyed or stolen. If we withdraw to our fortifications, they will be. So, we must meet the Blackrock Orcs in a direct confrontation and destroy them."

"Easier said than done." Said Blackthorn. "How will you do it?"

"The Blackrock Clan are warriors who only respect strength." Said Arthas. So I'll challenge them to meet me in battle. I'll play on his pride.  
"Convince him to go meet us in a fair battle."

Blackthorn narrowed his eyes. "Jubei'thos is no fool. He isn't going to give up a massive advantage just for a fair fight."  
"Jubei'thos?" asked Wilhelm.

"The Blackrock Warchief." Said Blackthorn. "I met him once, while in the company of Prince Aliden. What makes you think he'll take such bait."

"We'll play to their pragmatism as well." Said Arthas. "If we move our forces to the border openly, he will have to respond or let us destroy his colonies. So let's force his hand, make him draw out his troops earlier."

"We'll be outnumbered." Noted Wilhelm. "And most of our men aren't nearly as well trained."  
Arthas considered the strategy he'd come up with. An old one initiated by Aiden Wrynn during some of the late battles in the First War. "I have a plan that may compensate for our numbers. It is risky, but if we just wait, we'll lose for certain."

"Prince Arthas, this plan is absolute madness." Said Wilhelm.

"Is it madness when all wise policies lead to destruction?" asked Arthas. "The longer we waste here, the more likely it is Mal'Ganis will recover. We have to finish this matter quickly."

Wilhelm nodded. "…Very well then, Prince Arthas. But light have mercy on you if you leave all of Alterac defenseless."

"Thank you for your cooperation." Said Arthas. Over the next few days, Arthas mustered the militia and footmen and all he could. Reports came in from the north that the scourge had been retreating into the mountains. Uther had intercepted a column of undead and destroyed it. But another had reached the mountains. They were probably planning to create a bastion within the fortifications.

At last, Arthas' army was assembled, and the scouts were in. Marching outward, they made their way along paths. Several times they discovered attempts at an ambush by trolls and orcs. They turned the effort against them. Some large groups were defeated in the process, and yet they saw no direct sign of enemy.  
At last, they came before the first of the Blackrock settlements and halted. Here they began to assemble fortifications to make their stand. Stakes were set up to break up enemy fortifications as Blackthorn sent out more scouts.

"Prince Arthas, Jubei'thos has taken the bait." Said Blackthorn the day after their arrival. "His armies are moving toward us ahead of the trolls. His numbers and weapons are far greater than our own."

"Then we must make out final plans." Said Arthas. "At the least, we have a hill.

"Whitemane, you and your priests will be here. Our recruits and light infantry will be standing at the center. The orcs will put their best men in the center, so the line will bend. Your task is to make sure it does not break." In other words, kill anyone who ran. "Wilhelm, you will be at the right flank, and Blackthorn will be at the left. When the orcs charge, we'll shower them with spears then withdraw behind the line."

"So, the line bends." Said Blackthorn. "What good will that do?"

"Our best warriors will be fighting the orcs worst and vice versa." Said Arthas. "They will yield before us as our warriors bend. Orcs don't know how to do anything but attack head-on.

"We'll encircle them."

"You are assuming your men won't break and run." Said Blackthorn. "Before they had a defensive advantage and were facing a token force. Here they are facing the full might of the Blackrock Clan on even ground."

"We're desperate, Blackthorn." Said Arthas. "If our defenses fail, our men and all their families will die. If the orcs fail, they can always retreat back into the Alterac Highlands."

"We'd better hope you're right." Said Blackthorn.

The orcs came, marching out of the trees and assembling before them. At their head was that same leader from before, Jubei'thos. The red-skinned orc marshaled his forces, even as Arthas walked to the front. Turning to his men, he planted his hammer.

"Men of Lordaeron, the Tides of Darkness have come again!" said Arthas. "Even as we speak, the orcs of the Blackrock Clan are descending on us. Your task is to stand your ground and break the enemy. If you throw down your arms, you and all your families will die. If you flee before the face of the enemy, all the land will be overrun, and your bloodlines wiped from the world.

"Serve the light! Serve humanity! The enemy will die on this land and with it the Horde!

"FOR THE LIGHT!"

"FOR THE LIGHT!" roared the men, raising axes and swords.

Arthas turned from the army of militia to where Blackthorn and his men were now fully assembled. There were some trolls among them, but not the many tribes that Blackthorn had described. No doubt, he had not yet fully mobilized.

"Warriors of the Horde!" cried Jubei'thos. "The feeble humans think themselves our equal! Show them the power of the Legion! Show them the might of the Horde! "FOR THE HORDE!"

**"FOR THE HORDE!"**

There it was. That same vicious self-confidence with which the Blackrock Orcs had slaughtered Strahnbrad. An arrogance that convinced them the universe revolved solely around their race. To them, others existed solely to be conquered. Twice before Arthas had faced them.

There would not be a third time.

"Jubei'thos is mine." Said Arthas.

The orcs charged forward. The ground shook beneath their coming as they trampled over the earth. Spears thrown into their midst killed some of them, but others took their place. Another volley claimed more yet; still they came on. As they passed the stakes, their formation was shaken, but Jubei'thos sprang up the hill and brought around his blade.

Arthas caught it on his hammer, and battle was joined. He and the orcish chieftain traded blows, thrusting, slashing, and smashing. Arthas yielded ground alongside his warriors and caught sight of his men doing the same. The line was folding inward, slowly but surely, even as they hacked down orcs with abandon.

"Fight on! Fight on!" Arthas heard someone cry.

Arthas shoved Jubei'thos back and raised his hammer to heal a fallen warrior. Summoning the light, he resurrected many of the recently slain. Then he clashed with his enemy. In a stalemate, they stood, neither able to overwhelm the other.

"So, the Prince of the Alliance appears at last." Said Jubei'thos. "I've meant to pay you back for the defeat at Strahnbrad."

"You cannot conceive of the vengeance you are owed by my people, savage." Said Arthas.

Jubei'thos shoved him back, and Arthas parried one thrust after another. Back they went. "Fool! We are the stronger! Orcs are bred to fight and conquer, and none may stand before us! You can no longer hide behind the skirts of your pitiful Alliance! The Blackrock Clan rises!"

That was it. The orcish ranks had bent the center, but not broken it. Their flanks were caving, and now they were being overwhelmed. He smiled and halted the charge. "It has already fallen."

Then he struck Jubei'thos across the face, sending him back. "FOR LORDAERON! FOR THE KING!" he cried.

Jubei'thos looked around him as his orcs became aware. Surrounded on three sides, they were hemmed in. The huge orcish warriors now had their size turned against them, hardly having room to fight. As they tangled with one another, the Alliance moved in, killing without mercy. Many farms had been destroyed by these, and now justice had come.

"Fight on! Break free of the net!" cried Jubei'thos. "Retreat! Retreat, quickly!"

It was the only action he could take, there was still a small hole in the net. The orcs rushed for it, but as they did, they suffered many casualties. Hitting the ranks, they began to push through, even as Arthas moved in from behind. He caved in an orcish skull, smashed another one in the heart, and then they broke free.  
Fleeing for their lives, Jubei'thos and his warriors had spears thrown into their backs. But they ran quickly and outpaced the humans. So it was that a small, ragged band fled beyond the village and back into the highlands.

"He is smarter than he admits." Said Arthas.

Whitemane emerged from the fray, covered in blood, and hugged him. "Prince Arthas, the orcs have been routed! The few pathetic survivors have crawled back to their holes to die! So shall all who oppose the light suffer our wrath!"

She broke the embrace.

"Yes, I know, Sally." Said Arthas. "I was there. And I am beginning to see why Uther assigned you to me."

Whitemane blinked. "I was assigned because it was judged we were of like mind."

"That may be closer to the truth than I once thought." Admitted Arthas. "Let's finish the settlement process and send word to Uther. For now, have your priests begin healing the injured."

"Prince Arthas, what of the peons?" asked Wilhelm, emerging from the carnage with a limp.

Arthas healed him with a spell. "Take the healthy men and move forward and encircle the village, but do not attack."

So it was done.

Casualties had been far lighter than before. The numbers of Blackrock dead were immense, and comparatively few humans had fallen. Many had been wounded, but these were saved by the light. Arthas doubted the orcs had any healing talent to aid them.

Which brought him to his final strike. Moving forward toward the Blackrock Village. There he saw the peons cowering in fear, holding spears. There were no warriors, they had abandoned them. Arthas smiled. "Peons of the Blackrock Clan, hear me. Your warriors have abandoned you and fled back to their mountains. There they will be hunted down and destroyed.

"I now offer you a choice. If you hold loyalty to Jubei'thos, you may go to him. But your flocks, your pigs, and all your food supplies will be taken from you. If you do not, however, I offer you the chance to join us.

"You may be left in peace to tend your flocks. You will be afforded the protection of the Alliance. In exchange, however, you will be expected to provide a tribute of food. And also young men for military service.

"Make your choice. Should you prefer to stay true to your overlords, you have my word you may return safely."

"What are you doing?" asked Whitemane.

"There are two possibilities." Said Arthas. "Either they will become a source of food and manpower. Or they will go to the Blackrock Clan and cause mass starvation. With Jubei'thos' warriors decimated, they will have trouble controlling their peons.

"You will offer the same deal to each of the villages we find here, Sally.

"Blackthorn, I have a task for you."

"What is it?" asked Blackthorn.

"The Jungle Trolls need to be dealt with." Said Arthas. "I want you to ambush and destroy them. Your men know this land well, while they are strangers."

"Whose guides do you think are leading them, Prince Arthas." Asked Blackthorn with a smile. "Or do you imagine they've been so long delayed by accident."

"No, I do not." Said Arthas. "You should have an easy time." He looked to the corpses. "Burn the dead!"

This was the beginning of the end for the Horde. And they knew it

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
Now, I'd like to talk about something less than pleasant — Activision Blizzard's recent actions.  
Have you heard about the thing with Hong Kong?  
See there was a guy who won a Hearthstone Tournament. In his post-victory interview, he said something in favor of the protestors in Hong Kong. Protestors who are being violently attacked. These protesters are not hurting anyone. They want to maintain their autonomy and freedom in the face of a tyrannical China. And China has been putting dissenting citizens into camps. Not for a crime, but for their religious beliefs.  
This one player expressed support for them, stood up against tyranny. And Activision Blizzard then immediately banned him from Hearthstone. To add insult to injury, they stole his prize money and fired the interviewers.  
What this means is that Blizzard has bent the knee to China. It has actively silenced people who express opinions contrary to the Chinese government. Do you think he would have been banned if he'd said 'Go Democrats' or spoken out in favor of Trump? Of course not. Activision Blizzard makes a lot of money in China. US politicians won't ban their operations if they don't play ball. In essence, Activision Blizzard has made itself a pawn of foreign powers. A tool of a tyrannical regime to prevent people from speaking out against it. Not just in its borders, but abroad as well.  
I believe that we should not let this stand. If Blizzard takes a hit to its wallet, it will be less likely to do this kind of thing in the future. As such, I think that we should not buy any Activision Blizzard's products for the next few months. Including Christmas, if possible. Maybe even cancel any subscriptions we might have.  
Until today I was contemplating buying a subscription to WoW classic. As of this moment, I have decided not even to consider it until the year is over. I will not be buying any more Blizzard products until after Christmas.  
We don't have to bankrupt the company. But as long as we give them enough of a drop in profits, they'll be much less likely to pull this kind of shameful behavior. On the other hand, if we let this slide, then it will set a precedent. It will say that Video Game companies can control free speech. The casinos of microtransactions that the market has become did not start big. They began with a few add-ons. People bought them, so now we have children bankrupting their parents. And all the while, companies research how best to brainwash people.  
It is very important for the future of gaming and the future of honest business practices. We send a message here. And all we have to do to send that message is not to spend money.  
If you want to support this cause, you can do more than vote with your wallet. Spread awareness, tell other people about this atrocity against free speech and democracy. Every person who closes their wallet to Activision helps a little bit.  
Consider this. A WoW account costs about fifteen dollars per month. So if you cancel a WoW subscription for a year, they lose one hundred and ninety dollars. Three years it is five hundred and seventy. And if ten people do that, you can multiply that by ten.  
They are hoping that this will just blow over. But we must prove Activision wrong. Make no mistake; we are the Alliance and Horde. We are fighting a threatens us all. If we don't unite against this kind of corruption, it will become the norm and consume our world.  
We have the power to break Activision. And if we do it, we may break China's influence over our corporations as well.  
Sorry to ask, but this is important. I leave the choice to you.


	11. A New Campaign

**Chapter Eleven: A New Campaign**

Arthas strode along the path, his eyes glancing over the orcs and humans now drilling. He'd ordered that the militia train with them to build familiarity. Wilhelm walked before them, inspecting them as they walked. "Keep it up, you men. You are not peons, you are not peasants, but soldiers of Lordaeron. You live for mankind; you die for humanity.

"The undead will not stand before us! We will gain victory!"

"Wilhelm presents a different face before them, doesn't he?" asked Whitemane.

"Yes," said Arthas. "When one gains any authority, it is necessary to wear a thousand masks."

"What do you mean?" asked Whitemane.

"Well me, for instance," said Arthas. "Until recently, I wore a series of masks so familiar I didn't even realize I was wearing them." He paused. "To the people, I was a caring Prince. To Jaina, I was Prince Charming. To Uther, I was an eager young apprentice.

"I wanted so much to be what they wanted and in the end..." He sighed as a robed monk made his way toward them on the road. "I suppose I failed."

"In my experience, actions define a man, not his feelings." said the monk. Then he drew back his hood.

Arthas blinked. "Uther, you've returned."

"Yes, lad, I have," said Uther. "I haven't been able to spare any men, but I have come myself. Which, not to brag, should be of significant help.

"I've heard of your recent victories, and I am... impressed. The recent flow of livestock has gone a long way to helping with hunger.

"You'll be happy to know that the Silver Hand has ruled you remain part of our order."

"I'm touched," said Arthas, not entirely lying. "In any case, I've been drilling the peons of the Blackrock Clan was footmen. They should provide an excellent source of manpower."

"I don't like this, sir! Giving these animals weapons!" said a man to one side.

"Quiet, do you want to be on the front lines?" asked a man. "Or them?"

Arthas sighed and looked to them in irritation. Men off duty could not be left idle, or they talked. "I am certain you gentlemen have something more productive you could be doing with your time. Do you not?"

They nodded. "Yes, Prince Arthas."

"Good," said Arthas, "then I ask that you trust such decisions to me."

They left.

Arthas remained silent for a long moment and looked up at the waning sun. Above him, the hills of Alterac were silent and still. Hair blew through his hair, and he sighed. Then he looked to Whitemane. "Whitemane, what of the new converts?"

"We have been training many of the faithful in the ways of the light," said Whitemane. "Soon, they will be ready to bring their staves to our aid."

"You've had her training new priests," said Uther, voice disapproving.

"She has a hand in it, yes," said Arthas.

"Is that wise?" asked Uther.

Arthas smiled and looked at him. "Well, you said she was ideal for my purposes, so I believed you."

Uther grunted. "You've made your point.

"These men of Alterac you've recruited, can they be trusted?"

"So long as we uphold our end of the bargain, yes," said Arthas. "They are in no position to wage a lengthy war. If we give them what they want, they can be relied on.

"What news from my father?"

"There is some reluctance in the court to acknowledge Aliden," said Uther.

"Do they have an alternative?" asked Arthas.

Uther sighed. "In truth, no. But Thoras Trollbane won't be happy about this."

"Will, his troops, be present?" asked Arthas.

"Probably not," admitted Uther.

"Then I need not concern myself with him," said Arthas.

"I wish I could agree, but you know how politics affect things," said Uther. "Perhaps-"

"Prince Arthas!" said voice.

A man rushed up to Arthas. He was clad in the leather of Blackthorn and held only an axe and shield. He had stubble and graying dark hair. Kneeling down, he bowed his head, and on one arm was tied a white scarf — a messenger.

Arthas moved forward. "What is it?

"I bring news from Lord Blackthorn. The trolls have withdrawn back to their homes." said the man.

"Why?" asked Arthas.

"The undead are pressing in on them and the Blackrock Orcs with overwhelming force." said the man. "The two of them are fighting one another as we speak."

Uther nodded. "We can hardly wish any better fate for our enemies to tear each other to ribbons.

"Still, are there any settlements in that region that could be harmed? We should see to them."

"Unfortunately, yes," said Arthas. "If Mal'Ganis wins here, he'll be able to strike at the surrounding regions. and have access to many new corpses."

"There is something else, Prince Arthas." said the man.

"What is it?" asked Arthas.

"The orcs, they have dragons." said the man.

Arthas opened his mouth, then looked to Uther and Whitemane. He wondered if he had misheard them, and it seemed they were thinking the same thing. He looked back. "What?"

"Red dragons are flying to aid them against the undead. Jubei'thos and his men are cooperating with them now." said the man.

Arthas was past it at this point. "Oh, of course. Because if Alexstrasza must defend someone, she'll aid the green-skinned abominations." He became aware of a peon resting after a hard day's work. "No offense."

"None taken. Me no like warriors either." said the peon, before taking a drink. Well, at least someone here had common sense.

"There is nothing for it," said Arthas. "We're just going to have to bail out the orcs."

"What?" said Whitemane. "But surely it would be better to wipe them out."

"Believe me, I don't say it with enthusiasm," said Arthas. "But I'd rather have a weakened Blackrock Clan living in Alterac than Mal'Ganis.

"They'll have more trouble replacing their losses anyway.

"Or do you have an alternative, Uther?"

"Unfortunately, no," said Uther. "It's been a bad month. And the longer the orcs keep the undead occupied, the more time we have to fix this mess."

Arthas looked at the man. "Take some rest. Then go back to Blackthorn. Tell him that he must attempt to divert some of the undead and buy the orcs time. But do not take any undue risks; you are all too valuable to lose.

"We will follow behind with our forces.

"Wilhelm and Athanar will guard this region against any further assaults," said Arthas. "Whitemane, Uther, and I will move against the undead once our forces are mustered." Then he paused. "...Why would the Lifebinder take the orcs side?"

"Perhaps she has succumbed to the fel corruptions." suggested Whitemane. "We could burn her at the stake as an example!"

"Don't be foolish, girl," said Uther. "If the Red Dragon Flight had gone bad, they should have taken the side of the undead. The orcs are a broken tool the undead mean to dispose of and not worth defending."

"Enough," said Arthas, although privately, he thought an evil Red Dragon Flight could use the orcs as pawns. "Meaningless speculation will only confuse the issue. I will deal with the matter of the Lifebinder personally."

"How are you going to do that?" asked Uther.

"I'm going to write her a strongly worded letter," said Arthas.

"That's unexpectedly tame of you-" began Uther.

"And if she doesn't reply, I'll wipe out the Blackrock Clan, and kill all her children in this region," said Arthas.

Uther sighed. "Nice to see you back to your old self, lad."

"Don't you have an army to gather?" asked Arthas. "Whitemane, introduce Uther to such lieutenant as he may choose to accompany us. I will speak with Wilhelm and make arrangements."

Another day in Lordaeron.

* * *

From atop the spire of the Red Flight's Capital, Alexstrasza looked down on the world. The sun was setting beneath snowy highlands, and the old world was fading. The red-haired goddess felt a chill wind send her hair flowing past her elven form.

She sensed him approach, her friend and consort.

Turning around, she saw an elven man wearing a black cloak. He fell to one knee, as formality dictated. "Queen Alexstrasza."

"Korialstrasza, what is it?" asked Alexstrasza. "I had thought the Kirin Tor had your full attention."

"Antonidas has given me a message for you," said Korialstrasz.

Alexstrasza sighed. "Another one?

"I see." She looked down to the caves below, vast caves. And most of them empty. Once, they would have been filled with life. "It is unfortunate that we cannot act. But even if our strategy did not rely on luring the legion into a false sense of security, we lack the power to aid them."

"It is... different, this time, Alexstrasza," said Korialstrasz.

Alexstrasza looked back. "What do you mean?"

Korialstrasz shifted. "This is not a request for help from the mortal races as a whole if it were that I should have handled it myself.

"It is an ultimatum from Prince Arthas Menethil." He offered the scroll. "Somehow he knew that the Kirin Tor had a contact with the Red Dragon Flight. I had thought the Deathwing crisis had been kept under wraps. But it seems Terenas is more observant than we thought."

Alexstrasza found herself intrigued. She'd never gotten an ultimatum from mortals before. Striding over to him, she took the scroll. "Let me see it."

Sure enough, it had the seal of House Menethil on it. Breaking it, Alexstrasza unrolled the parchment and looked over it. The writing was neat, but hastily written and with no flourish.

* * *

'To Alexstrasza the Lifebinder, Queen of the Red Dragon Flights, Mother of all Life.' The usual praise, as a formality.

'It is with respect to all your previous achievements that I write this. None hold your slavery to the Horde against you, nor your inability to aid us against the Scourge.' That was a lie, Alexstrasza knew that the memory of it had not faded. Many still hated them.

'However, I've received reports that your flights have been aiding the Blackrock Orcs. The Blackrock Orcs have been a terror to the people of the Alliance for years. They have stood secure in their mountains until now. Meanwhile, not one dragon has come to aid the Alliance against the unending tides of the undead.'

'Many whisper that you have taken the side of the darkness.' An exaggeration, surely?

'It is my desire that you grant the leaders of the Alliance a meeting and account for these actions. Bear in mind; I am already moving against the orcs as we speak. If we are not given proof that you have not turned on us, I shall be obligated to treat your flights as an enemy.' That was... unexpectedly candid.

'Hoping this finds you in good health,

'Arthas Menethil, Crown Prince of Lordaeron.'

* * *

The Prince of Lordaeron had just threatened to declare war on her flight. Why? Because she had chosen to aid the Blackrocks against the Scourge and not his people? An understandable motive for anger. But Alexstrasza had watched over the world for ages. Surely her credibility had been established by now.

She wasn't really sure how to react to this. "This is unfortunate.

"Events were still proceeding as expected, better than expected until I received this."

"I find it outrageous," said Korialstrasz. "He's treating you as if you were just another mortal kingdom."

What would Alexstrasza's action look like if she were a human monarch? She would have been unwillingly forced into war with the Alliance. From there, the Alliance had freed her and ceased all hunting of her flights.

Oh.

Oh, that was it.

Prince Arthas Menethil was treating the Red Dragon Flight like a vassal state. Like an ungrateful nation that had been liberated, now contemplating rebellion. This was something Alexstrasza had never had to deal with. The elves, however much they advanced, had always treated her with the utmost respect.

And the lesser, no, newer races had always regarded the Red Dragon Flight with awe. Alexstrasza had been worshipped as a goddess in ancient days before the light came. She had allowed it because it was better for them to worship her than other powers. And it had allowed her to act freely for the betterment of the races.

Those who succumbed to dark powers hated and feared her. Those who sought the good treated her as a goddess until they no longer needed to. Until someone sent her a letter demanding she explain her actions.

This was new. It was remarkable how the little things could rattle you.

Alexstrasza sighed. "Well, there is nothing for it. I'll just have to go meet him."

"What?" said Korialstrasz. "But Alexstrasza, you are the Lifebinder. To appear before these humans, when summoned like a mortal monarch is beneath you.

"Allow me to go in your stead-"

"Do you what the term 'Omniscient Morality License' means, Korialstrasza?" asked Alexstrasza.

"...I don't believe I'm familiar with it," said Korialstrasza.

"It's a rather complicated term," said Alexstrasza. "The general idea of it is that someone who possesses one is powerful and wise that they can do whatever they want. Actions that would be impossible to justify are permissible. They just need to have a long term positive effect.

"For some centuries, there has been a misconception that we, and the Guardians of Tirisfal, have one.

"The truth is that there is no such thing.

"If you cannot explain to someone at the moment why what you are doing is justified or necessary, it isn't." said Alexstrasza, "Do you remember Aegywynn?"

"The Mother of Medivh?" asked Korialstrasz.

"I never liked her," said Alexstrasza. "In retrospect, I know why. She believed that because she was the Guardian of Tirisfal, she was always right. She believed that the universe did and should revolve around her. And as a result, we faced an invasion by the Burning Legion well before we were ready.

"If we'd had one or two more generations, we could have refounded Arathor. None of this cloak and dagger business would have been necessary. I have no intention of ever becoming like her.

"I will explain myself. At least partially."

"We sent the Prophet for that purpose, did we not?" asked Korialstrasz.

"He barged into King Terenas' throne room unannounced. He then proclaimed the world doomed," said Alexstrasza. "The blessing of the Dragon Aspects granted him an audience. But to the more pragmatic, they would have rejected him out of hand. While I commend him on his handling of the Warchief, I am less than impressed with his work on the Alliance."

"Proudmoore did listen to him," noted Korialstrasz.

"And how many others did?" asked Alexstrasza. "Proudmoore funded her expeditions my arguing in favor of resettling refugees. Not on the basis that there was an unstoppable tide of doom coming to consume the world.

"Many more will die because of our Prophet's insistence on spectacle." She sighed. "Send word to Prince Arthas. I will meet with him en route."

"Are you certain he'll be willing to listen?" asked Korialstrasz.

"He's a ruthless pragmatist with limited resources," said Alexstrasza ruefully. "I expect he'll understand my position." How she wished she could say she was nothing like him.

"As you wish, Queen Alexstrasza," said Korialstrasz.

Then he departed.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Sorry, this took so long. I was basing my initial game plan off a series of missions I was designing. However, I ultimately decided that it wasn't a good way to make a story.

On a separate note, I've always felt that Alexstrasza would despise Aegywynn.

My basis for this is their personalities and actions. Alexstrasza is kind and forgiving to a fault, insisting on the mortal races standing on their own. When the time comes for her to give up her powers, she does so gladly. In contrast, Aegywynn is a selfish, sexist, jerkass who treats people as tools. She ruined her unborn son's life to keep her power over the position of Guardian of Tirisfal. In the end, her greatest regret was that her plan failed, not that she enacted it.

I suspect Alexstrasza and Aegywynn had a similar relationship to Arthas and Tichondrius. They are technically working toward the same goal. But both despise one another and are looking to get rid of the other as soon as possible. Alexstrasza by insisting Aegywynn do her job by handing over the position. And Aegywynn by mind raping a baby.


End file.
